


Welcome to Mirkwood

by ElvenMaia



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, AU very young Prince Thranduil of Greenwood, Action, Adorable little elflings later on, Adventure, F/M, Fight Scenes, Gen, Legolas Greenleaf & Tauriel Friendship, Legolas and Estel meet, Mirkwood has a lesser ring of power, Mischievous Elladan and Elrohir, Mystery, No romance between Legolas and Tauriel, Only OCs die, Pre-hobbit 50 years, Read at Your Own Risk, Suspense, Tauriel has a brother, The darkening of Greenwood, Thranduil and Elrond ain’t BFFs, Thranduil has his scar, Thranduil with PTSD, Work will not be abandoned, Young Legolas Greenleaf, first fic, how on Arda did they make that work, lots of hurt/poisoned elves, traitors in our midst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-01-05 02:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 142,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21206102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenMaia/pseuds/ElvenMaia
Summary: *!REVISED!* Lies. Treachey. Deciet. Men's hatred for the King of Mirkwood peaks after he failed to aid them in the slaying of Smaug. Thranduil struggles to decide who he can trust, while being cornered by unknown persons in his own home! Will the King manage to come out on top with his people behind him? or will it end in bloodshed?





	1. Forbidden Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Middle Earth
> 
> AU elements: Thranduil was very young when he became prince of Greenwood; Greenwood’s stronghold moved from ‘Dol Guldur’ to a palace at the southern foot of the Mountains of Mirkwood where this story mostly takes place; there are young elflings; Greenwood has its own Ring of Power, lesser than the Three elven Rings. It’s main feature is that is closer connects the wearer to the essence of the forest and boosts their stores of magic.
> 
> Rated for blood/violence/injury/death and tense situations
> 
> Italics indicate elvish, emphasis, or thought.
> 
> *elvish translations will be at the bottom of the chapter.
> 
> I made up rankings so here’s the list from highest to least sway: prince and captains, generals, then commanders
> 
> A/N: Yay! Revised version is finally up! 
> 
> I will warn you, first off that this IS my first fic. Please be kind; don’t like don’t read. :)
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!

Thranduil rushed through vast courtyards, with his brow creased in distress and biting his lip anxiously. Pushing a set of grand wooden gates open without a second glance to the startled guards, he rushed through in the direction of the livery, casting an absent remembrance to the days he used the magic of a Ring to fortify their gates.

He had sent out a regiment of trusted elves led by his son Legolas on a scouting mission to the nearby city of Tedrin on a whim to make sure all was well there. Sending out patrols such as this was abnormal but there had been an insistent nagging at the back of his mind to do so; the woodsman living in their part of the forest were getting rather... pesky.

The party had just returned.

All was not well.

oOo

Legolas stumbled off his mount, clutching a hastily bandaged arm and limping slightly.

The world began to spin around him and he brushed his hand against his aching temple. His fingers came back stained red. He groaned. _I_ _do not like getting blood in my hair,_ he thought deliriously. _I have not time for such a botheration._ He pressed his eyelids closed to escape the spinning world and pondered that perhaps there had been something on that arrow that grazed his arm. It _burned_.

All around him elves rushed around to help the rest of the patrol off their mounts and rush a far too large portion of them to the healing ward.

The young Sinda was startled when someone appeared beside him and firmly grasped his elbow to help steady his shaking figure. He blinked again to clear the double vision and looked into the elf’s face to find Aldaner, an elleth healer, looking at him with worried sternness. Rather, more like unspoken chastisement. Legolas swatted her hand away and took a couple shaky steps forward.

“None of that Legolas! You can’t talk yourself out of this one; you are certainly not alright. Now let me help you to the healing ward before you collapse and make a fool of yourself.” Aldaner pursed her lips and tried to guide his shoulders but he stubbornly pushed her away.

Amazingly enough, he was able to take a few more steps before collapsing on his hands and knees into the tall shadow of an elf with his hands on his hips. Legolas dared not to look up; it seemed his head might explode if he were to move it.

“What did I tell you about listening to the healers, Legolas?” the voice was meant to sound aggravated but Legolas could hear the worried undertone. He could only let out a muffled groan. Of all people he had to collapse right in front of his _adar_! And in such a condition as well. Thranduil bent down and helped his son to his feet. _Ai, I did indeed make a fool of myself. Get it together Legolas..._

“_Hir nin_ I—“

“Talk later, Legolas. We must get you cleaned up first,” Thranduil chided with the shake of his head. He wanted a report but demanding such from his injured child sounded awfully callous.

He had barely finished the sentence when Legolas went limp. The Sinda collected him into his arms and tried now to think about how awkward he felt holding his child thus. _Ai, when did you grow up, Legolas?_

Healer Aldaner pressed a blood-soaked kerchief to the wound on unconscious Legolas’ forehead where another arrow had grazed him. Aldaner always marveled at how he managed to escape the most perilous of situations.

Jaseric, the Commander of the patrol, rushed up to Thranduil, limping heavily with his cloak swathed around his leg in a make-shift bandage.

“_Aran nin_!” Jaseric gave a hasty but polite bow.

“Commander! What has happened here?”

Aldaner rushed over to steady him. He was wavering dangerously on his feet and blood had begun to seep through the bindings.

“In the city!—” he was panting. “We were ambushed—and—and outnumbered!—The city was destroyed—we tried to protect—but the filthy Edain demolished— they’re gone now.” Another hoarse breath. “Many are wounded,” he finished miserably with a glaze to his eyes that signified he would be out soon.

“I understand, _hannon-le_ Commander. See that you mend.” Thranduil returned Jaseric’s weary half-smile with a nod as Aldaner led him away, chiding him all the way how he should be more careful and take better care of himself, and the Sinda couldn’t help but smile. Jaseric had been orphaned young and had no one but his sister left. Aldaner had been caring for the Royal family as an assistant healer since Thranduil had been a very young prince.

“Will you manage?” Aldaner called over her shoulder, dropping the pleasantries as usual.

“I will see that he gets to Master Healer Filendis,” he called back wryly. As if he would do anything else but seek medical attention immediately.

Inwardly, Thranduil knew this attack was nothing to be looked over. There was of course, the usual skirmishes between elves and woodmen every few years, but it was rather rare, for _Edain_ were particularly superstitious of elves—especially Silvans, for they were swift and silent and deadly as shadows. _Edain_ feared what they could not comprehend.

But the opposite has been proved true; the number of skirmishes had recently been growing more frequent, and none had been as serious as this. No mere horde of angry woodsmen could inflict this much damage. No, there was some other scheme at work here.

The men came in with unimaginable numbers and would strike in irregular intervals. Elven warriors were spread too thin in the cities—and by cities, they imply groups of _telain_—and were unable to do anything more than fight for themselves. Condensing the troops into one place was not an option because the humans would strike random cities without any kind of pattern, and—unlikely as it was— were any elf caught spying for any prolonged period of time, a war truly would brew between the two races, for many excuses could be conjured for a reason of attack from finding an ‘enemy’ spy.

Thranduil hated feeling so helpless but there was really nothing they could do to stop the marauders. Though Thranduil did his best to rule, many elves had adopted the opinion that a Sinda has no right to be sitting on the throne. Already a dangerous majority of the citizens of Greenwood were beginning to doubt his rule.

Anger burned inside him for the Men that were still infesting his territory. They were still displeased with him for not coming to aid their brothers who had suffered the destruction Smaug had inflicted on the people of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor. But Thranduil knew dragons weren’t just some minor force to be reckoned with. He had first hand experience with them and knew the risk was far too great. He was tired of death.

Pushing the memories of his beloved deceased wife and dragon fire to the back of his mind, he concentrated on getting Legolas professional help.

Thranduil planned to send a regiment of scouts out to help those who dwelt in Tedrin rebuild and keep out any other dangers while doing so. As soon as he called an emergency council meeting. This he could not stand much longer.

He returned his attention to his son limp in his arms as he swept purposefully down tapestry-lined halls. He swallowed nervously as he watched blood trickle from the wound on his son’s head and soak through the cloth tied to his arm.

_Head wounds usually bled this much, didn’t they? Oh Legolas, why_ _do you insist on making me worry for you?_

oOo

“We must act _now!_” The golden-haired Greenwood general stood abruptly, toppling his chair. His voice was raised so that it echoed off the walls of the meeting chamber and everyone present exchanged weary glances. This ellon was known for being rather... overzealous. Nearly conspiratorial if you wanted to put it that way. “Our people are being harassed, and our guards are already have enough on their hands with keeping the rising darkness at bay! I say we increase the number in our Home Guard and attack before those filthy _Edain_ return!”

The two guards by the door had moved into a defensive stance, their hands on the hilts of their swords.

Thranduil waved his hand mildly, gesturing for the guards to stand down. He was already in a sour mood and council meetings—emergency or not— never failed to give him a headache.

“That is quite enough, General! If you cannot address the council in a proper manner, I will ask you to please escort yourself from this chamber!” Thranduil’s icy blue gaze fixed on the ellon’s, causing him to waver.

Thranduil did not fully trust this elf. Though he was skilled in battle, he had yet to prove himself trustworthy of this position. Thranduil was giving him a sort of ‘trial run’ to see how he would handle his new name. But of course, Gindorelle, the general, did not know this and naturally acted as one does with a haughty prefix to their name.

“_Goheno nin, hir nin_,” he muttered after a lengthy stare from the king and fumbled with his overturned chair. Being embarrassed as such riled him.

Legolas fidgeted uncomfortably in chair and twirled one of his braids around his finger, unsure of what to say. He was embarrassed enough that he hadn’t been able to handle this matter and had to turn to his _adar_ for aid.

He cradled his bandaged arm. Thankfully the arrow that had grazed it had not done any serious damage. The tip had been smothered with a strange sort of potion that the healers were still trying to analyze, though. It was new and they had never seen anything like it before but they had gathered so far that its purpose was to weaken its target and eventually drive them into unconsciousness.

His head still ached, but with Legolas’ quick elven healing, he would be back to normal within a few days; there was no way he was going to miss this meeting, no matter how much the healers pleaded with him. He couldn’t help but feel that it was his fault the situation with the _Edain_ had gotten out of hand in the first place, even though Thranduil had tried to persuade him otherwise. With facts and logic, of course; not in an informal, comforting way of a father. That is how most things were settled between them most of the time anyhow. Legolas sometimes wondered if there was still his _ada_ buried under that cold mask of the _aran_.

“Nay, we need fully trained warriors if we were to attack, and besides, that would leave the palace unguarded,” added Captain Denisale with a look of disdain at Gindorelle. Increasing their Home Guard would mean lowering the age of which elflings were trained. Children were precious to the Eldar, and the folk of the Greenwood already mourned the young age of which their children were taken off to war with the Shadow.

“Perhaps it would be best not to involve our soldiers... we don’t have enough as is,” Master Healer Filendis said, exposing his concerns. He was the Royal head healer, but spent most of his time caring for elves that came in from patrols going south. Dark things were beginning to creep up from there and they fought valiantly to stop it. Hope felt vain when they had to leave their stronghold behind them in the South, now known as Dol Guldur.

“Perhaps, but what choice do we have?” General Gindorelle was still rather young and had not seen too many battles. He longed for the rush of adrenaline and fast action.

“I believe the best choice is to burn them out.” All heads turned to the ellon who had not spoken since the beginning of the meeting. Murmurs rippled throughout the room. Ausocitin, the ellon who had spoken, had been King Oropher’s advisor before he died. He was now the advisor of his son as well.

Thranduil’s eyes darkened. Ausocitin had been around for a long time and seemed eager than ever to press his buttons and keep him on edge and just in reach of his control. Thranduil had always been wary of this elf, for Ausocitin had ever looked upon him with a dark look of disapproval whenever his back was turned. Thranduil would have dismissed him from office long ago, had he not been Silvan and seen highly in the general opinion. Taking a Silvan off such a high position with no real reason would surely create a riot, and Ausocitin sure took advantage of that.

“And risk setting the surrounding forest on fire? I don’t think so.”

A dangerous glint shone in Ausocitin’s eye. “If you recall, our scouts reported that they were settled in a clearing, a safe distance away from the trees.”

“And if we could get ahold of some of that exploding powder—“ Gindorelle was interrupted a loud crash as Thranduil harshly set down his wine goblet on the table.

“I would like to myself _clear_ that we will _not_ be using _fire or anything of the sort!_ It is far too risky that the other trees will catch fire and we will not be able to stop it. Besides, we cannot blindly kill all the humans. They may have settled there with their wives and children, and should we kill them, we shall be called murderers shall we not?” The members of the council exchanged looks of surprise. Ausocitin had not said anything particularly aggravating, but Thranduil was nearly seething.

Images of fire and an echo of the horror that had filled his heart long ago had brought itself to the forefront of his mind. The charred armor-clad bodies strewn about the great rocky spires, and the reptilian body of the Serpent hovering in the distance as the sky was blemished with smoke— _I will not see this forest burn. Never again, never again..._

Gindorelle began to rise from his seat. “It is the best way to exterminate the vermin without endangering our own men!” He began taking steps towards the king. Not yet! Not yet! Ausocitin silently pleaded. “King Oropher took serious heed of advisor Ausocitin’s wisdom and the kingdom thrived! Now look what our beloved _Greenwood_ has become.” Thranduil watched him cooly under slack eyelids; cold, deadly, collected.

“_Enough_, Gindorelle!” growled Captain Denisale, also rising from his seat. “That’s treason you’re talking!”

Legolas stood abruptly between Gindorelle and his _adar, _coming face to face with the General. His azure eyes flamed as be pulled his shoulders back to his full height. “I suggest you take your seat General, or I will send out an order to arrest you.”

Gindorelle sneered. “On what charges _ernil_ _nin_?”

_Blatant fool! We ruin _his_ reputation, not ours!_

Without a word and quick as a flash, Legolas reached behind Gindorelle’s cloak and plucked a dagger from the back of his belt. Legolas smiled coolly as Gindorelle paled.

“Perhaps for carrying a concealed weapon into this chamber when you know very well it is not allowed, disrespect to those above you and abuse of their proper titles, as well as your untimely outbursts during this council meeting.”

“A council that you are no longer a part of. I relieve you of your duty, Gindorelle.” With a wave of his hand, Thranduil had the two guards carrying out a shouting and thrashing Gindorelle.

Ausocitin scowled. Gindorelle’s position as General had played an important part in his plan. But then on the other hand, perhaps the plan was better off without a _fool_ that carried around weapons to important meetings. His eyes turned to Denisale, the captain.

“Now perhaps we can address our current concern without interruptions,” Thranduil said, the irritation obvious in his voice.

Master Healer Filendis spoke timidly, “Maybe advisor Ausocitin is right. We can not afford to risk the lives of our soldiers to these barbarians.”

“And be labeled as killers? I don’t think it will help our current situation much,” said Legolas.

“Well they are taking from what little provisions we already have and are harming our people. We must act very soon.” Captain Denisale’s brow was furrowed in deep thought.

“I still say we burn them out. Gindorelle _was_ right to some extent. It may not be the best option but what better can you think of?” Ausocitin said with that familiar edge to his voice saying ‘_you have no choice but to listen to me’_ that always made Thranduil’s blood boil.

The Elvenking looked up from where he was twirling the wine in his hand-blown glass goblet, trying to keep the heat in his chest under control.

“Is that a challenge or just a mutiny? An insufficient ruler I may be, but I fool I never was.” Thranduil had risen and began walking towards the elf to punctuate his words. His anger blazed hotter than it had in a very long time with pent up resentment. “You are up to something, Ausocitin. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Tell me what you will but you seem to forget who’s _really_ king around here, despite how much you may wish it not.”

Ausocitin backed away from Thranduil. They eyed each other carefully. _You will regret that, elfling. I know what you fear. _

The advisor reached overhead and took a candle from the chandelier with a sly look. He then threw it onto the bark shreds in the center of the large oak table, causing the decor to flare up in a tall flame from a sweet-smelling resin in the centerpiece.

Heart leaping in his throat, Thranduil stumbled backwards as the flames shot up in front of him and he braced against the wall, desperately trying to will away the visions of that horrible night that threatened to take over. _Dear Valar not here not now— Ausocitin you sly little _beast_!_

The flare had actually been quite small and had died out almost as fast as it lit up. None of the other council members had even moved from their seats.

“That’s it isn’t it?” Ausocitin said with a condemning tone. “You’re _afraid?_” He laughed aloud. “To think we have a _coward_ for a king. If it wouldn’t be for your _cowardice_ Thranduil, we wouldn’t be in this situation would we? Smaug would be dead, and everyone would be well! No wonder our _queen_ is dead.” He glared at Thranduil who was still bracing against the wall and massaging his temples, his knees threatening to buckle, and the horrible flashbacks of fire and anguish taking over his field of vision. Filendis was at the king’s side in an instant, trying to help him control his labored breathing. Legolas had moved to Thranduil’s side and Denisale had rushed to block the doorway.

_Of all the nerve! _thought Legolas. No one spoke to his adar like that; King or no.

Thranduil shoved the memories to the back of his mind, the mention of his wife getting the better of his tolerance. He pushed the elves away and stood almost nose to nose with Ausocitin. He was positively seething. He had not been this angry in _several_ millennia.

Unprecedentedly, the skin on the left side of Thranduil’s face began to shrivel back, exposing raw muscles and glistening tendons as it stretched down to his neck. It climbed his cheek to his eye which became a cloudy white before it reached the side of his temple.

“I am no _coward_.” The king didn’t yell, yet his voice seemed to fill every corner and crevice with an ominous hiss. The room itself seemed to darken, and he took a step forward, pushing back the quite horrified advisor. The muscles pulled and bare, scarred veins pulsed as he talked.

“If anyone here is a coward it’s _you_. You know very well the rehearsed _lies_ you tell my people and how they’re tearing apart this nation. My father trusted you once; _I_ trusted you once, but now I know what you really are. _Traitor.”_

Thranduil pulled away from Ausocitin as the scar wound itself back down the side of his face, disappearing as if nothing ever happened.

The advisor backed away and hurried out the door, receiving a smoldering glare from Captain Denisale.

Thus his age-old grudge of anger appeared. Oropher, Ausocitin, and exactly two healers who had sailed to Aman alone knew of his face-off with the Serpent and what it did to him. The people of Greenwood remained ignorant of the zealous bravery of their once-prince.

“_Aran nin_ are you—!“ Filendis almost squeaked. Even being a Master Healer he had never seen anything like that.

“I’m fine!” Thranduil snapped rigidly as he brushed the Healer’s hand off his shoulder and turned on his heel, his rich, silver embroidered ceremonial robe whooshing behind stiff, broad shoulders as he marched out of the meeting chamber. “Meeting is adjourned,” he called over his shoulder.

Legolas stood frozen on the spot, his eyes wide and brows furrowed in horrified bewilderment. He exchanged uneasy glances with the other ellyn in the room then followed his _adar_ out of the chamber.

oOoOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is cherished (as are reviews owo xD; I read and highly appreciate them even years after) and I will do my best to take it into account in future writings. :) Plz no flames, this is my first fic. :)
> 
> Special thanks to my beta, Scribbles-on-Parchment! Your undying support means the world to me :)
> 
> Elvish translations:
> 
> Aran, aran-nin... king, my king
> 
> Hir, hir-nin... Lord—, my lord
> 
> Ion, ion-nin... son, my son
> 
> Edain... (the race of) Men
> 
> Ada, adar... father
> 
> Nana, naneth... mother
> 
> Ellon, ellyn... male elf, (pl.)
> 
> Elleth, ellyth... female elf, (pl.)
> 
> hannon-le... thank you
> 
> Ernil, ernil-nin... prince, my prince


	2. Duty, Yes?

**A/N: **slight angst in this chapter. There won’t be much of it in this story though.

Chapter 2~Duty, Yes?

Legolas was stunned. Plain and simple.

His mind shifted to the meeting earlier that day. He had been considerably shaken; he had not known. _You think me still a child, hir nin? Do you have no faith in your son? _

He knew him and his father were on a bit more... distant terms than usual, but he figured they had an exception with Thranduil being king and all. It had never really struck him how truly distant they had become in the last hundred years. That there was something so major that happened—surely he didn’t simply forget to tell Legolas of his... his... he did not even know what to call what happened to his _adar’s_ face—and Thranduil didn’t put him in his confidence.

The young Sinda felt the inklings of anger burn in his chest but he quickly choked it down as one covers a candle. But it was not really anger what he felt. He was jealous, maybe. Of all the families that had it right. That were complete. That were unburdened by some pretentious, so-called honor that kept his family apart and barely civil in relation to each other as strangers were.

And he was lonely. But most of all, he needed his _adar_ to be by his side.

Suddenly, Legolas ached a closeness. He wanted to be by his father’s confidant and work things through and be able to rule together. _But what am I, really? A prince? Or my father’s son? Oh remind me for I seem to forget. _

Legolas shook his head and continued along the dreary corridor to the royal wing, an unidentified burden leaving his eyes cast down and head bowed low.

The mention of burden brought him back to Greenwood’s present situation, and he tried to drown himself in it. _Duty, duty, duty, yes? Well eat it up, elfling; it is your life. _

Legolas wanted to run away from it all. Run away; heels kicking up behind him and the wind blowing through his hair, as he cast his cares to the wind so that it may take them far, far away.

But he didn’t. He continued to plod quietly down the halls that closed in him in and doused the live sparkle in his eye; head down and weary, for there was no one around to force him into his great, miserable façade.

Duty.

It was a sense of duty that kept him going forward to his father’s section. Why? It was expected of him. What kind of son leaves his father, his king, to fall down such an arduous path that which accursed duty set them on.

But then on the other hand, what kind of father does not trust in his son? _Is it me? Have I not proved worthy to be your confidant? If not as a son, then at least as a subject? Or is it you? Is it your stiff neck and proud chin that have set you blind to that which is below you? Would you think so little of me despite what I try to do for you? Aran-nin..._

Legolas did not know.

_Am I duty to you as well father? How do you see me? A captain of armies? Your loyal subject? What am I? A painful reminder of what we both lost? You lost your wife, adar, but I lost my mother. Or have you forgotten?_

_Duty. _

He would have said he hated it, had it not provided him an excuse to wallow in his pain. Or was it self pity? Was he selfish for taking this new occurrence as another reason to blame his father instead of truly being concerned for the fate of his people?

_Who am I, really?_

The door to Thranduil’s private parlor was slightly open. Legolas hovered hesitantly; partly his bitterness kept him back, and partly because he knew not what to say.

Duty did not bother to provide a rule book for such things.

In spirit, it was not in Legolas’ nature to be so... so apathetic. But it hurt. Oh how it hurt. How tired he was of running around trying to bend to every whim that duty ordered on him. One day, he knew he would break. He was alone.

_What would it take for you to see me, adar? What would it take...?_

He peered inside the room. Thranduil was standing limply near the wall, as if trying to gain strength from it. His back was turned to the door and he looked not as grand with his shoulders slumped wearily and ornamental robe tossed haphazardly over a convenient sofa nearby.

“You have every right to be angry with me,” his tired voice called out, causing Legolas to jump. _So much for being angry with my too-proud father. _

He stepped into the chamber and Thranduil’s legs folded neatly under him as he slid to the floor, ever the picture of gracefulness. Perhaps his façade became so strong so as to consume him.

In his hands he held a polished slab of rich redwood with two intertwined names etched into it with an amateur’s care. Legolas recognized it to be as a gift his adar had made for his naneth when they had been courting.

“I am not angry with you, _hir nin,_” Legolas responded cordially. _Duty calls for many things but has it yet succeeded in making me a liar as such?_

Thranduil scoffed as his fingers traced the grooves in the wood with a glaze to his eyes. “Princes aren’t supposed to lie.”

“And neither are fathers supposed to keep such things from their grown sons,” he blurted in the heat of the moment and then flushed as he sorely regretted it. Both of them knew what he was talking about.

At this, Thranduil looked up at him. The barest traces of moisture were on his cheeks.

He gave a half-hearted shrug; it came off as unconcerned. “Well, now you know.”

Legolas grit his teeth and spun on his heel to exit, when his father’s voice stopped him. This was new. They usually let each other be.

“_Goheno nin._”

The young ellon chewed on his cheek and slowly turned back to the room. “Pardon?”

“What happened in that room was not just an ordinary counsel disagreement, Legolas. Long have I foreseen some treachery from Ausocitin, and he is no fool; he will not make an act against the throne unless he is prepared. We are in danger. And we cannot let some—some _thing_ that happened an age ago drive us apart. Such a rift will be the end of this line and I do not intend for that to happen.

“So; forgive me. Now; especially now, I need you to stand by me as a prince, and—and... as a son.”

An apology backed with duty it was, but an apology nonetheless. It was enough. He heard the unspoken words and his mother’s name displayed out before him on the wood said what was not said. ‘_She would not have wanted us to be apart such, ion. Take my hand and let us walk through this together.’_ It’s what he wanted, didn’t he?

Legolas swallowed thickly and his eyes began to sting. Stiffly inclining his head he rasped, “Will do, _hir nin._” He turned to leave before he shattered but was stopped once again.

“That’s _adar_ to you.”

Legolas looked at him uncomprehendingly and Thranduil rose to his feet with a (genuine) half-smile pasted on his slightly sunken cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes. _Since when did he look so drawn?_

“Will do. _Adar_.” It felt better. A small, wry smile.

Thranduil collected Legolas into his arms and his brows shot up as he stood uncomfortably in his father’s embrace. It was unexpected, but rather nice.

_You don’t have to be alone, _it seemed to say. And yet Legolas found that hard to believe.

oOo

_Wanna tell you I’m alright,_

_Wanna say I’m not in pain,_

_But I would just be tellin’ lies,_

_I’m not ok_

_I’m not ok_

_Wanna travel back in time,_

_Say the things I didn’t say,_

_I wanna tell you everything,_

_If it’s not too late..._

_Is it too late?_

_Will you be there if I call?,_

_Will you leave me in the rain?_

_If I say it’s all my fault,_

_Will you still walk away?_

_I understand if your afraid..._

_But people change..._

-fKandC

oOo

Thranduil broke away with troubled eyes that betrayed his contemplations. More paperwork, as always.

“I might spare us the evening,” Thranduil said. Legolas almost jumped back in surprise. “How were you planning to spend this night?”

“Erm. I was headed to the archery fields..” he said uncertainly. _Is he actually going to..?_

The façade was glueing itself back together. “So soon after injury?” He tutted. “Would you mind some company? I dare say it has been—“

“Well?” interrupted a familiar voice from outside the door, the _ellon _barging in as if he owned the place.

The _ellon_— with the typical chestnut hair filed in; Feren, as always. Galion was the missing part of the trio but he was away in _Imladris_. They were Thranduil’s brothers in all but appearance and blood.

Feren paused outside the door, his eyes skittering about the room and scrutinizing the faces of the king and prince with slightly lifted brows. Not often were they found together in this room in good relations.

“This used to be private room, you know,” Thranduil said in mock exasperation.

“But you are king thus entitled to bend to the demands of your people, and your _personal captain _I request an account of such prior meeting,” Feren drawled in accompaniment to a low teasing bow. He too saw that all was not right but was ever the type to keep up the good spirits.

Thranduil just glared at him. Feren was, in fact, the captain of Royal guard, responsible for keeping the royal line intact. It was a tease among them that Feren called himself Thranduil’s ‘_personal captain_’.

Feren quieted. Thranduil had gone silent and was studying the hem of his sleeve a bit too intently.

“Well?”

“Well I lost my temper,” Thranduil said without preamble.

Feren snorted rather unbecomingly. “Tell me something new.”

A lengthy glare was promptly turned on him.

“I lost my temper, blew the dragon business out of cover, and there might be a war brewing as well as a mutiny, but of course you knew that because you were listening in. Please tell my dear head advisor that he is dismissed from office. I am occupied for the remainder of this evening so if you would please excuse me.”

Thranduil turned to the exit, Legolas following wordlessly. Feren’s countenance was bewildered with the barest hint of guiltiness.

“I’m not doing your paperwork for you!” Feren called after him. Galion was the secretary, and Feren was filling in while he was away, so he had enough of that on his own.

The two Sindar disappeared down a bend in the halls.

Feren but his lip and stared at the spot they had disappeared. He had only listened in to part of the meeting but from what he had heard, all of Greenwood better brace themselves...

oOo

It was a dark night. Lanterns hung from the low-hanging branches of the fruit trees, illuminating round shapes that grew there with warm glow. The multi-storied stronghold towered above, a shadow of the Mountains perched on the horizon behind it.

An arrow thunked into the target, perhaps two finger’s widths away from the center. Thranduil frowned. “I seem to be lacking practice,” he stated flatly.

He felt this a critical moment concerning his and Legolas’ relationship. He recognized the rift between them and pushed himself to try and seal it to the best of his abilities. But there was so much he didn’t want Legolas to know or see.

The slip with his scar earlier that day had been one of them and he had already chided himself numerous times for letting his emotions get the best of him. He knew it only happened because as little as Thranduil had respect towards the Ausocitin, the words struck a chord in his heart; one of his deepest fears, and it had felt like a knife through his _súlë_. _What if it really was my fault Celeblessil died? That I lost naneth and adar to insufficiency? If it is a curse then I want my son as far, far away from me as—_

Thranduil’s attention was diverted outward with the sound of an arrow slamming into a target.

Legolas smirked as his own arrow made it right onto the dot that marked the center of the target. “It seems so, _ada_.”

He couldn’t help but smile and wonder if he was dreaming.

Feeling playful, Legolas raised his aim to the thin stem that held an apple to a branch overhead. Taking his time, he let go of the string, and before he could blink the apple was falling to the ground.

Not even a second later the twang of a bowstring could be heard followed by the familiar thunk. An arrow had pierced through the middle of the apple and was sticking out of the target, as if it had been pierced mid-fall. Legolas turned to see an unmistakeable smirk on Thranduil’s face.

Legolas took it as a challenge and turned to the oak tree, about ten paces away. He chose an acorn and let the arrow fly, this one too, sending the small nut tumbling to the ground.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘_impressive_!’, and they both erupted into easy chuckles.

“You come here often?”

Legolas gave him a side glance. “I suppose. Usually when I—“

They immediately fell silent and froze, cocking their ears to the forest, listening intently.

There it was again; rustling. Not by the wind but by some living creature. The sound was very faint and could barely be heard even with their sharp elven senses.

“Let’s go,” whispered Legolas after a few beats.

“What?!”

He looked at his father, puzzled. “It’s most likely a handful of some straggling spiders since our patrols have all been cut too thin. We can take them easily enough.”

Thranduil pursed his lips. “That is most unwise, Legolas,” he said with a chiding tone. “I will send out a party to take care of it. We best retire.”

“I wish to stay a bit longer,” said Legolas slowly, eyeing the dark mass of trees looming before them.

Thranduil nodded and departed, thinking nothing of it.

Legolas, of course, plunged into forest as soon as he was out of sight.

oOo

Captain Denisale gathered his rosters from the table in the meeting chamber, the feathery ash of the bark shreds drifting across it by some unseen draft.

He did not know what he had just seen but he was certain he did not want to see anything like it again. Denisale had never been one to highly praise the king, but this afternoons revelation had caused him to be wary. There were things going on here that are being kept hidden.

He moved out of the meeting chamber, casting behind his worries. He was going to the outpost now; he had always loved staying in that _talan_.

Denisale froze in mid-step. Ausocitin was coming his way. He continued on, hoping he appeared unperturbed.

Ausocitin edged uncomfortably close to him and they brushed shoulders. The _ellon_ pressed a piece of paper into his hand, crumpled around something hard. But then he was gone, keeping his eyes straight ahead as if nothing happened.

Suspicious, Denisale opened the paper and revealed the object inside as well as a lengthy mess of Tengwar inked on the paper.

There, in his hand, was a ring. A very familiar ring.

oOo

The closer Legolas crept toward the sounds, the less convinced he was that it was spiders. He stalked silently through the darkness, darting from tree to tree.

He pulled his hooded cloak down, wanting to make sure it would conceal his natural elven glow from being seen by— well, whatever it was.

He cocked his head as if listening, and squinted, the usual murmuring of the Song absent in this darkening part of the forest. _I_ _had not realized I have come so far south... _Yet he edged on.

_Torchlight_. _Torchlight? Strange. And horses? Yes, and horses too_. A dull thudding. _Hmm. What could be making that noise?_

Legolas came as close as he could to the camp without risking himself being seen. _Voices_. _Low voices. Men. Yes, he decided. A camp of men. But so close to the palace? They had never come this close before._

Legolas got a strange feeling in his gut and he suddenly felt he needed to hear what the _Edain_ were saying. His heartbeat was rapid and he could feel adrenaline rushing through his veins. Was he scared? No. No, he was worried. Not for himself. Legolas looked back in the direction of the castle. No, he was worried that the Edain were so close to the castle. He was worried of what this could mean for his father.

Quick as a flash, Legolas was swinging up onto the branches of the tree closest to him. He then leapt to the next tree, and the next, all the while getting closer to small clearing where the barbarians were setting up camp. He stopped only when he had broad and clear view of the temporary settlement and could clearly hear their voices and discern what they were saying.

The camp was quite small. Tents were being set up as close as they would fit. The dull thudding noise was made by a man pounding a tent’s peg into the ground.

There were approximately fifty men that scurried around the camp. Most were gathered around the campfires and all were dressed in torn and sooty clothes. Legolas could tell by the scruff on their cheeks that they hadn’t been there too long and were constantly preoccupied with something so they hadn’t had time to shave.

A few horses snorted and stamped away mosquitos, still harnessed to covered wagons. Men were unloading a variety of weapons from the wagons. Legolas could see many crude swords—even some battle axes— as well as some bows and quivers of arrows.

Legolas’ blood ran cold when he realized what could be happening. He took a deep breath and scolded himself for jumping to conclusions. But he couldn’t help the pinching in his gut that told him something was wrong.

Legolas returned his attention to the bustle of the camp as an _adan_ began to speak.

“Distribute the weapons! We know not when the order may be given. We must be ready at all times. Ashtan! We need firewood. May as well chop one of these trees; they’re pretty much dead anyways. Gilgan! You will be our messenger to the other camps.”

_Other camps?_

The man who had spoken had a gruff yet authoritative voice; obviously the man in charge. The two men he had addressed saluted and were now going to fulfill the tasks set out for them.

Legolas’ eyes widened when he noticed the _adan_ addressed as Ashtan was making his way over to the tree Legolas was perched on, swinging an axe. _Valar, out of a whole forest..._

Legolas looked around desperately for an escape. He could jump to another tree, but they would surely see him. Maybe if he waited until the tree had begun to fall, and _then_ jumped...

His legs vibrated as Ashtan hacked away at the tree which was already bending due to the fact that he was half-ways through the trunk and it was bearing a slight extra weight.

Finally the tree began to tip forwards. Legolas coiled for the jump and aimed his landing to a nearby branch.

_Now_! He pushed his legs from the tree, but was suddenly jerked back by his neck. He had half a second to regret ever leaving the stronghold on his own as he let out a strangled gasp and was stunned by the sudden cut off of air. The tree crashed down on top of him with a loud snap as the dry branches broke under the weight of the heavy trunk. Legolas barely found enough breath to moan as gravity squeezed his body between the cut trunk and the ground.

His quiver of arrows pierced into his back and black spots rimmed his vision as he struggled to breathe. The men began rushing to him, weapons in hand. He knew he had not the time nor energy to try and push the tree off of him.

Legolas reached to his back with his right hand, unsheathing one of the duel blades; his left hand gone numb under the weight of the tree.

Several _Edain_ advanced on him at once with cries of surprise. Legolas was able to parry the blades that had struck out towards the top of his body. Kicking out, he was able to send a few of them sprawling.

All the motion had caused his hood to fall off, exposing his glowing face and long golden hair trailing in the dust.

“It’s a bloody _elf_! Get ‘im! _Get ‘im!_” The man in charge was yelling now.

Legolas heard a familiar twang of a bowstring followed by an excruciating pain that erupted in his right calf. He yelled out and blocked the blades more ferociously, warm blood now soaking through his leggings.

His vision began to spin and his arm throbbed with exertion. Just then Ashtan rushed towards him, two-handing his sword with the point aimed down, as if to end the struggle. Legolas thrust his blade sideways, metal clanging on metal. Ashtan’s sword to pierced the ground instead. The _adan_ was unfazed by his miss and quickly pulled out a dagger. Legolas aimed a punch at his face, but Ashtan ducked under the weak thrust, giving Legolas’ free arm a nasty slash.

The elf panicked. He was now unarmed and barely able to breathe, much less move.

“_Saes!”_ It was the last thing he was able to say before Ashtan administered a violent jerk with his dagger to Legolas’ thigh, right above the knee. He let out an unrestrained cry as his whole body throbbed from the lack of circulation. Struggling to regain the air he wasted on the scream, he futilely fought the welcoming arms of darkness that loomed over him. _No no no!_

Legolas’ periphery caught a blurred flash as pain erupted in his head and everything went black.

oOoOoOo

Saes... please

Adan... (of the race of) Man (sin.)

Súlë... an elven soul

Goheno nin... forgive mer


	3. Too Late

Chapter 3~ Too Late

Legolas awoke to a pounding pain in his head and chest. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to raise his hand to his head, but found that they were both bound tightly behind his back, as he suspected. Ropes also bound him upright to a small sapling behind him. He shifted his legs and choked back a yell as a wave of fire washed over him.

“He’s awake!” a voice called distantly.

A low moan escaped his lips and his eyes fluttered open.

The camp bustle had died down since the last time Legolas had been awake— whenever that was. It was fully dark now and most of the men were sitting around the campfire, downing a mug of mead and staring at him curiously.

They had never been able to really see an elf this close up before. Unless, of course, they had participated in the little raids on the elven cities. The elves moved so fast it was hard to get a good glimpse of their face in battle, though, and elves with hair the color of spun gold was indeed rare.

A sickly sweet smell still hung in the air and Legolas resisted the urge to sputter. Fighting off the last of his drowsiness he studied the bandage wrapped tightly around his leg in consternation. He vaguely remembered being cared for by a healer, but alas it was only flashes of memory as they had probably kept him drugged until now, hence the strange smell.

A man edged toward Legolas and crouched down beside him, and Legolas’ eyes darted around fruitlessly for something to protect himself. Even if they hadn’t stripped him of his weapons, they would prove useless for all the bindings that restricted nearly any movement.

The _adan_ observed him through narrowed eyes as one does a caged animal.

Legolas returned his gaze to the man, trying to look confident and unfazed despite the heavy pull of his eyelids and the throbbing pulsating throughout his entire body.

It was almost quite silly because the man had been trying to do the same. Most of the others kept their distance, their eyes flitting to him nervously every once in a while, which Legolas thought was very odd; he could barely even move much less have the energy to escape or harm them in any way.

The _adan_ near him displayed a toothy grin.

“See, it’s my job to patch you up, so’s there’s no point in tryin’ tuh turn me into som’thin’ unnatural,” he declared. Legolas raised his brows in a belittling manner. _Valar, if only these weren’t so tight..._

The _adan_ proceeded to unwrap the soiled bandages around his leg and inspect the wounds with a _tut tut_ to himself. In truth, the wounds were doing fine; no infections or anything of the sort, but it seemed whatever drug they had used on him had stunted his healing abilities somewhat.

What did bother him though, were the stitching jobs. By the look of them, he sure was glad he hadn’t been awake to feel them. By the feel of his brow, there were stitches up there too. He wasn’t particularly vain, but he sure hoped it wouldn’t scar.

Legolas bit back on his teeth to restrain a wince. The _adan_ had begun running a a sharp-smelling wet cloth over the afflicted areas to clear away the blood and it stung horribly. It felt more like someone was rubbing a handful of gravel into his skin. He arched his back and took as deep of an intake of air as he could manage as if it would relieve the pain. _That’s what it is; alcohol,_ he thought wrinkling his nose in distaste. _So its burning coals he’s rubbing into my skin then._

“You’s heal fast, lil’ Birdie,” the man observed with a scratch to the stubble on his chin, then he smiled up at the elf again after a stretch of silence. “I’s call u lil’ Birdie ‘cuz we found you’s up in a tree like them there _birds_.” He huffed a gravelly laugh to himself then paused and looked back up Legolas who had his head cocked mildly. “You’s gonna have tuh talk sometime ‘r other, Birdie. They’s gonna ask your name and you’s gon’ have tuh talk.”

Legolas stared at him coldly and unwaveringly and the _adan_ shuffled uncomfortably.

“How many days?” Legolas said abruptly, his voice inlaid with steel.

The man jerked back his hand and glanced at him in confusion.

“You’s speaks our language?” the man asked hesitantly.

“How many _days_ have I _been_ here?” the Sinda repeated curtly.

The _adan_ looked down at his boots then rotated on his heels to face an approaching burly man with thick reddish-brown hair, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

“Birdie’s a-talkin’, sir, but I don’ think he’s gonna tell you _nothin_’.” The _adan_ shot Legolas a pouty glare. “Not the frien’ly type, really.”

The other _adan_ raised his brows in distaste. “Birdie?”

He grinned smugly. “Yessir, that’s what I a-call ‘im! Like I says, I don’ think he wans’tuh talk much so’s I call ‘im Birdie, cuz we found ‘im up ‘ere in a tree like them birds.”

The burly _adan_ rolled his tongue in his cheek and nodded slowly. “Ah. I see.”

Legolas fought the urge to laugh at the man’s face. He looked so very tired and was mostly likely calculating whether or not saying something sarcastic would make him feel better.

“Don’t you worry about that last part, Urea. He’ll talk,” the _adan_ said, resting a heavy scrutiny on the elf below him for several beats through narrowed eyes.

Legolas cocked an eyebrow and absently wondered why it made him feel so superior.

“Sir Gresh’m, I’m _tellin_’ you he—“

“Why did you not kill me?” The elf’s tone was nearly as cold as the Grinding Ice itself.

Gresham and Urea were taken aback.

“Well _that_ were easy,” Urea muttered. Gresham glared at him and the _adan_ ducked his head.

“That is our concern, elf.”

“Birdie,” insisted Urea under his breath. Gresham’s eyelid twitched.

“Get. Out.”

Urea grumbled and shuffled away. “I don’ see how I can do that; we’re bloody _outside_.”

Gresham ignored the remark and returned his attention to Legolas who had remained stone-faced throughout the whole thing. The elf spoke next, just as chilling as before.

“How many days?”

The _adan_ looked just as startled as he had previously.

“Erm. About a handful I would say—“

“_How. Many. Days?_” Each word was a biting blade.

“Uhh three,” Gresham stuttered. He was a bit taken aback by authoritative manner in which the elf spoke. Considering his tone of voice and the way he had skillfully defended himself a few days prior made him hope they had stumbled upon an elf of importance. Perhaps even a General if they were lucky; Ausocitin would be pleased. It was hard to say, for the elf wore simple hunting attire, though he used quite fine weapons.

“Urea! Finish your job.” Gresham turned back to Legolas and leaned close to his face, poking an index finger into his chest to punctuate his words. “He will be here soon, elf, and you better be ready to talk. I have no qualms about helping you loosen your tongue so you better prepare yourself to answer _every_. _Single_. _Question_.”

He straightened and turned stiffly on his heel after one last glower to bark orders to men who had begun to unload large wooden crates from the other wagon.

Legolas huffed. Really, he tried far too hard to appear intimidating. It obviously worked on the other men, though. Gresham was the man Legolas had recognized to be the leader of this camp when he had still been spying from the treetops, three days ago apparently.

He had just about to indulge in running through the possibilities of why these camps were here so close to the stronghold in the first place, and who this person he was supposed to answer to was, when Urea bumbled back over to his side with a silly grin on his face and a steaming kettle of water sloshing around as he carried it, whistling an aggravatingly merry tune.

If this was the man that had put in his stitches, Legolas was doubly grateful he hadn’t been awake. The very thought of a needle in that blundering fool’s hand made him quake.

He wished with all his heart his captors would let him treat himself. He doubted they even knew how to make the draught that eases pain, much less give any to him if they did.

Sitting back on his haunches with a satisfied grunt, Urea unrolled a length of bandage and wrapped it tightly around his lower leg. Legolas winced again as the _adan_ jerked the sensitive area while tightening the knot, giving Legolas a skeptical grin as he did it.

“Ima done, Sir Gresh’m!” he spouted, rolling the name in his mouth with the tiniest hint of mockery.

The broad-shouldered _adan_ turned at his underling’s beckoning and came over to inspect.

Straightening after several moments of looking his captive up and down and grunting to himself, he waved his hand and several men moved towards Legolas. “Five men are to stay with him at all times. It is fruitless to try escaping,” he said with a glare to the young elf. Legolas glared back with as much cold, brooding anger he could muster into one look. Too bad; he should have taken lessons from his _adar_ in the field of unsettling glares or mocking brows.

Some of the attention was eventually condensed elsewhere, though he could not seem to lose the careful scrutiny of his ‘_personal captains_’ or so to speak; the muse reminding him of Feren’s fun-uncle attitude and easy smiles and bringing an unwelcome pang of homesickness in this sea of unfriendly faces.

_These men are not going to let down their guard for one second,_ he thought as he eyed the men that surrounded him, their weapons unsheathed and ready at hand. Legolas thought he saw a bit of a tremble in them, or maybe his mind was still muddled from the blow to his head.

Nevertheless, his eyes constantly swept around the clearing, his mind racing with possibilities of escape. So far, there had been none. The _Edain_ were being careful to not have any conversations around him, much less meaningful conversations that might aid him in some off-hand way. Actually, everyone just avoided him altogether. He had yet time to puzzle over their silly fear of him. Urea had mentioned the idea that Legolas would turn him into something... ‘_unnatural_’ as the _adan_ has put it, but he had no idea where they had gotten that idea from. He wasn’t about to discourage this irrational fear that he, as one of the Firstborn, had supernatural abilities, for it kept others away from him and would hopefully aid his escape.

He gulped and tilted his head back against the tree and towards the sky, seeking comfort in the patch-work of stars and foliage above.

His mind wandered to wondering what those strange crates were, but it of course wandered right back down the rabbit trail of guilt. _Why did I have to look? Why do I always have to look? What am I trying to prove? And to whom?_ He would have kicked himself if he could. _Valar, how am I going to get out of this mess...? Won’t I be the next laugh of the century. Hmph. Some prince. Just when I promised adar I would stand by him, I immediately bounce off like a blundering fool— OH._

_Adar_... Thranduil was sending out a patrol.

The thought didn’t relieve him as much as he thought it should.

It was then Urea bumbled over, his ‘medical handkerchief’ thrown over his shoulder, the ever-present sloppy smile on his face. He crouched next to Legolas and stared up at him with expectancy. Legolas did not like how comfortable the _adan_ was with him and narrowed his eyes at him for good measure.

“Wha’sa matter, Birdie?” he asked jovially with a concerning undertone of smugness. “Cat got’ch yer tongue?” He threw back his head and laughed as if he had just said the cleverest thing on _Arda_, the sound just as choppy as a mule’s honking. It was a considerably true comparison, Legolas thought with a bitter inward smile.

“_Fine_ then. Don’ talk,” he said in a mock-affronted tone that made the elf want to roll his eyes. “I jus’ needa finish patchin’ you up ‘cuz I forgot tuh fix yer arm.” He reached for the elf’s arm were a soiled bandage was tied around it carelessly and cut it away.

Legolas had to look away. Seeing a knife in that man’s hand was almost as bad as seeing a needle in it.

Just then, a party of approximately ten men emerged from the trees, all wearing dark clothing and out of breath. They were followed by a figure on a horse, clothed in a black velvet cloak, his face concealed with the cowl drawn up.

He dismounted and promptly began stalking to the elf trussed up to the tree. No one had to see his face to see the glower imprinted on it; ominous energy was rolling off him in waves and Legolas had the decency to look a bit frightened. Because he was not. Not at all.

“That mus’ be him. Yer gon’ have tuh talk, Birdie. Captain’s here,” Urea whispered. For a second, Legolas didn’t pay any mind to the stink of his breath and his uncomfortable closeness; there was something very... off about this new character.

Urea clamped an alcohol-soaked handkerchief over the slice in his arm. Preoccupied and unprepared for the pain, Legolas couldn’t help the scream that tore through his lips.

The hooded figure shot to Legolas’ side with unnatural speed and clapped a hand over his mouth. “_Shut up!”_ he hissed. “The King may have sent out a party and we wouldn’t want to run into them, now would we?”

Legolas’ eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat and blood running icy cold as he recognized the voice.

Suddenly he knew the questioning was going to go very, very badly for him.

oOo

Thranduil sighed as he rummaged through the pile of papers on his desk.

He used to like sitting in his office. One of the walls was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, fully stocked with old records and such. The other walls were covered in framed paintings of woodland animals or waves crashing into a sandy shore. Several house-plants stood in corners and soft sunlight (or moonlight; Thranduil spent just as many hours in the office catching up on his work at night as he did in the day) filtered through the leaf-shaped windows on the double balcony doors.

He gazed outside now, pondering a thought. Legolas had not come to see him since the night of the meeting. It was not unusual for them to go several days without each other’s company but he had to say something concerned him. Knowing there wasn’t much he could do about it, Thranduil firmly decided he would call upon Legolas to sup with him that night.

The Sinda yawned and cracked his knuckles, hands sore from the hours he spent at the desk.

_Done_; he was finally done. He had spent the last few months flipping through old records and trade agreements, puzzling over the disappearance of the large majority of Greenwood’s wealth in the form of gold or silver pieces and other precious stones and metals.

To this day, Thranduil did not know what Oropher had done with the wealth. He had noticed its disappearance long ago when he had still been prince. He had not taken part in any counsels or official gatherings during that time because he had been indisposed by injury... _severe_ injury.

There was some wisdom in accumulating wealth through object rather than currency; it could be sold later in times of need such as now, which is exactly what he had been forced to do.

Now the once-extravagant walls were lined only with old tapestries purchased from _Doriathrrim_ refugees in mourning of their lost home and queen.

_If only I knew what had happened to all that wealth... _They were in desperate need of it now. _It cannot have just disappeared into thin air..._

Oropher had only revealed certain information vital to the nation’s safety to a close-knit groups of officials. Everyone in Oropher’s circle was either dead or had sailed... except Ausocitin.

His eyes shifted to the door that led into Galion’s office and the door on the opposite side of the room that led to the advisor’s office.

An insistent nagging at the back of his mind similar to the one that had led him to dispatch the patrol to Tedrin poked at him now and he knew better than to ignore it.

He entered Ausocitin’s study.

It was simple and everything seemed to be in order. A polished oaken desk was pushed up against window. Bookshelves much like the ones in his own office lined the wall, paintings and bone-chiseled candle sticks another.

The Elvenking absently opened one of the top drawers of the desk; it was empty;

except for a small key hidden in the back corner. _Strange_... He did not remember Ausocitin’s to have a need to have any kind of key...He looked around for a lock to match the key.

Nothing. No journal fastened by a locket, no—

Wait.

_Aha_! There it was. On the desktop near to the far left edge of the desk under a neat pile of folders and paperwork was a little hole; just big enough for the key to fit through.

Thranduil inserted the small key of twisted silver wire and turned it, a rewarding click being the response. He lifted the small panel about the size of his hand.

Papers. Folded paper. Crinkled folded paper. Letters perhaps. Thranduil took the top piece and unfolded it. It had a date in the top right corner—

Why, it was today’s date! His heart rate climbed as he skimmed over the paper. _Valar no, do not let it be too late—_

His shaky hand let the letter flutter to the floor and he whirled around swiftly.

Just then a distant elven trumpet rang out from one of the watchtowers perched on the outer wall of the stronghold. The urgent cry was echoed by several others. Yells erupted from outside, the sound of twanging bowstrings and clashing blades resonated off the walls...

_No..._

Too late.

oOoOoOo

Daro... stop


	4. That’s ‘Captain’ to You

Chapter 4~ That’s ‘Captain’ to You

“_No_,” Legolas croaked as soon as the hooded figure lowered his hand from Legolas’ mouth. His black leather gloves were not very appetizing. “It cannot be... _how could you?”_

The figure scoffed, pulling off his gloves and twirling a ring on his finger in a picture of dominance. “Thranduil is an insufficient ruler for this great realm. We are far better off without some _Sinda_ on the throne—“

“_MY FATH—_“ Legolas was cut off by hard kick to his stomach. The world began spinning around him and dark spots rimmed his vision as his face paled and he tried to heave in great gasps of air against the restraint around his chest. Every second seemed to stretch into an eternity, his eyes threatening to roll to the back of his head. His lips turned a darker blue and pain lines creased his face as the effort became too difficult for his battered chest.

Voices swam right outside his grasp and he felt himself slipping. _No no no they cannot know who I am—_

“Don’t just _stand_ there!” boomed the muffled voice of Gresham. The elf’s ‘_personal captains_’ fumbled with the knots but they were too late. His muscles went limp and he sagged sideways, unconscious.

Gresham strode over to the ceased commotion and put an effort into restraining himself from shouting as he would typically do. The men kept their heads lowered under the strange captain’s heavy presence; few dared to snatch a look at his face.

Gresham observed his unconscious prisoner dishearteningly and shot a glare to their new captain while the cloaked man eyed the visible peak of the stronghold’s watchtower, the barest hint of indecisive uncertainty on the features that were not hidden by his hood.

Gresham nearly jumped when the stranger snapped his attention to him with very unsettling dark eyes. It seemed they would shine with the golden hue of honey in the sunlight but now they were clouded and sinister.

The human general puffed out his chest and crossed his arms with narrowed eyes, either trying to throw the figure that towered before him him off-kilter, or make sense of the seeming two-sidedness of this new captain.

None of the men had ever met him. They had only been informed that an elf was to arrive at their camp at this hour and they were to call him captain and heed every word he said. Gresham was still rather sore about the abrupt change of leadership from him to this stranger, and he tried adding a scowl to at least signify that the captain had a challenger and could not just sweep Gresham off his pedestal so easily.

And even yet, Gresham found himself cowed by the stranger. Malice seemed to roll off him in waves though the look in his eye was not exactly the absolute chaos swimming in the eyes of the other elf; Ausocitin, but it was similar.

“I was going to question him; find out who he is,” Gresham grumbled as he crouched down next to Legolas, unbinding his hands with an intent stare at the captive’s clammy fingers, hating the physical chill that captain’s calculated look laid on him. He could just imagine those dark eyes sparkling with a fell intelligence. It made any ideas of opposition a fool’s errand.

“No need,” the stranger said, his dangerously silky voice was tinged with scorn, any trace of uncertainty banished. He let down his hood to reveal a weaved curtain of mahogany hair, the pointed tips of his ears peeking through. His eyes were no lighter in the torchlight and his jaw was sharp and strong. _Snake_ was all Gresham could think.

The clanking of spoons in bowls ceased and wary yet expectant heads lifted, awaiting the news.

The ellon smiled and the torchlight danced a mocking reflection in his eyes. _Snake_.

“You have snagged yourself a prize indeed,” drawled the ellon, the mocking in his voice lending it an almost theatrical ring. “You now hold the _one_ and _only_ heir to the throne of Greenwood.”

Murmurs rippled through the gathered, some leaning over to give their captive a second glance. It was obvious to everyone that who they held was not some ordinary commoner, and some shared looks of greed, now knowing very well the advantage they had. Others looked worried; surely a prince would hold a fearful amount of power, especially if the demanding presence of this elf—their captain apparently—was anything.

Gresham himself was rather surprised as well. Surprised in a pleasant way, though.

The elf’s title certainly matched his authoritative air and commanding attitude as well as his fine skill and weaponry. Although ‘_fine_’ was a poor understatement, Gresham admitted grudgingly to himself. The little prince had displayed a bought of terrific, unbelievable skill considering he looked to be in his early twenties, maybe younger. Gresham, unlike most of his men, didn’t believe all the tales and myths about elven magic and immortality and such, but he couldn’t help but doubt his beliefs just a little when they had seen that the _ellon’s_ skin actually _glowed_, which had died out to almost nothing when he went unconscious.

“You said you know him very well,” began Gresham cautiously in a gruff voice, taking heed that the captain was an elf, and _his_ skin glowed too. “What position do you have in the Elvenking’s court?”

The captain considered the question, rolling it over in his mind almost playfully as a cat bats a mouse. “I am Captain Denisale,” he said without preamble. “And that’s Captain to you.”

oOo

Thranduil rushed down the dreary, torchlit corridors to the courtyard of the palace that held the training facilities and armory.

His mind raced, still in shock of finding the letter that gave orders of this attack, proving the treachery of Captain Denisale.

_‘It will happen on the morrow. Do anything in your power to weaken the defenses and promote disorder and confusion. Though your many reassurances, we are limiting the information given, in case this should fall into the wrong hands. You are dependent on the outcome of the attack._

_‘Do not fail, Captain Denisale.’_

Signed_; ‘your master’_

He was outraged and considerably concerned that this whole thing had passed right under his nose! He knew something like this was pending and bound to happen soon, but not _this_ soon! It pained him to think what other things could have been done without him ever knowing.

He approached the doors to the main room with a flick of his hand and a command in Sindarin. They immediately flung open as if on their own accord. He still held power here, even if the Ring was not in his possession.

A soldier helped him into steel vambraces as the king called out orders.

It was rather foolish on the _Edain’s_ part to charge the stronghold, though, and it puzzled Thranduil. Their gates were secure and unbreechable, and his archers could make swift work of them without any engagement. This reckless charge seemed to him more a display of their pride than actually attempting to do them any harm... Unless there was something else he did not know about. The very thought made his gut churn with anxiety.

“Gather the troops! I want the archers up on the southern and western walls! Two regimen behind the second and third gates! Get the soldiers who have already engaged to fall back up and inside the gates.”

Thranduil strapped a quiver full of arrows and elegant longbow to his back, tying a pouch with several orbs consisting of a milky white powder to his belt that held his favored duel blades. Warriors scurried about him, gathering up arms and running off to follow their king’s orders.

He alone was left to take up place as Captain, for Gindorelle had been dismissed, and his other two Generals had been recently injured in patrols they led. They were on bed rest and were not permitted to move yet. His Commanders were already engaged.

Thranduil, however, was still digesting the fact that Denisale was faulty. He never would’ve suspected him, and trusted him enough to go and look for Legolas alone...

_Legolas!_ He had sent Denisale after Legolas. Legolas has not come to see him for several days... That in itself was not entirely alarming, but now that he thought of it, Feren had often asked him of the whereabouts of his son and he had been unable to answer and had absently sent off Denisale to search for him. He had sent out a party as well but they had been cautioned not to go farther south than the farthest outpost and had not come across any spiders.

The Sinda instinctively gazed at the southern wall. Legolas probably went after those spiders anyways. Only there hadn’t been spiders... Maybe he had been carried off by orcs? The very thought made him shudder. No, what they heard that night had not sounded at all like orcs. The trees would have altered them was it for that.

Now thinking back on it, the trees had remained silent the entire time. Perhaps the Shadow was creeping up faster than he anticipated.

Thranduil narrowed it down to two options. Give his people a leader when they needed him most, or go look for his son whose life may or may not be at stake. He felt as if the decision had a grip on both his arms and was tearing his chest in two.

_What if Legolas is fine? He’s quite capable of handling himself._

Thranduil took a deep breath. He would have to trust that his son could take care of himself and that he would be alright, but he couldn’t help that knot of apprehension twisting his insides into knots.

_Oh, Galion! How I wish you were here!_

Thranduil froze as a realization hit him.

“Oh, _Galion_,” he breathed. He had completely forgotten that his _gwador_ and secretary Galion had gone to _Imladrís_ to visit Lord Elrond. He was supposed to return on the morrow!

The raid had been led mostly near the main, western gate, the place Galion was sure to pass through. If Greenwood’s forces had somehow failed in driving the Men back by the next day, and Galion arrived...

Thranduil didn’t finish the thought.

Now his people needed their King. He wasn’t going to let them down. He would set off after Legolas as soon as a respite was to be had.

Thranduil ran outside and sprang lightly onto the western wall, the archers all crouched behind the ridge at the edge of the stone wall that served as a shield from arrows being fired from below. He gave them a small nod as he passed and exposed himself to the enemy, looking down as the last of the engaged warriors leaped into the trees and were pulled up onto the wall by their comrades, mostly unscathed.

The first thing he noticed was how numerous they were. Their numbers stretched all the way down the path and out of sight into the trees. Anxiety played on his nerves again.

A vast majority of the Home Guard charged with defending stronghold when need be were archers, for it was highly unlikely that their walls should be breached and would there be need for swordplay. If his soldiers _were_ to engage, however, it would be in the clearing made on either sides of the path winding to the gates. Battle on open ground was not an area of experience to his warriors.

Thranduil straightened his composure and coolly watched the enemy under lax eyelids, the tiniest hint of a smile playing on his lips. Perhaps the _Edain_ could not see as far as the Eldar could, but this was a performance he knew well and was not about to deprive the _Edain_ the full experience of it.

The crowd below had fallen silent from their challenging shouts beckoning the fight to begin and stared up at the lone figure on the wall. The afternoon sun glinted off his silvery-gold locks as they wafted softly in the breeze and he stared down unflinchingly. The delicate workings of silver and steel winked like the flash of a wolf’s teeth and the steady cerulean of his eyes was lethal and entrancing. It gave him the look of an ethereal creature; a very _dangerous_ ethereal creature.

The restless silence was broken by the click of bolts being loaded into great iron crossbows, yet even the barest clink of chain mail seemed all too loud.

The ellon’s calmness was uncanny. He seemed more annoyed at their presence and not at all frightened that his life was being threatened. He said nothing but they all heard the unsaid question: ‘_How dare you defy me._’

One of the men, the leader of the charge—predictably—gathered the courage and broke the silence with the buzzing of a bowstring, the arrow flying to the _ellon’s_ chest.

But Thranduil had anticipated. With speed that was almost unreal, he had unsheathed one of his long knives, and with a graceful and incredibly timed swipe, severed the arrow in half midair, leaving the two halves splintered at his feet.

The enemy exchanged alarmed glances.

Thranduil bent down and picked up the half of the arrow that was attached to the iron tip. It was smothered in a black substance; obviously poison.

“I have given you plenty a chance to surrender.” He made no attempt to shout but his voice carried clearly across the clearing. He snapped the remaining shaft of the arrow between his fingers, giving it a disgusted look as he let the pieces drop to the cobbles. “We do not take kindly to such an intrusion.” He waved his hand and the archers stood from their hidden positions, all their movements fluid as if they had foreseen this event and practiced a million times.

With another wave of his hand the archers nocked their arrows. They seemed mirror images of each other; puppets connected to the same string.

“Leave now.” His voice dropped in pitch. “Or die.”

The words in the letter echoed through Thranduil’s mind. He mentally bit his lip, wondering if Denisale would be able to cause any damage while he was out in the forest... where Legolas was. _Why do you insist on making me worry for you so?_

He sheathed the other of his twin blades and took up his bow as he pushed thoughts of his son to the back of his mind. Now he had to concentrate. He would look for Legolas later.

The _Edain_ responded with a volley of arrows by the command of a black bearded man who had fired the arrow at Thranduil.

The elves ducked behind the wedge for cover until the volley ended, then re-emerged, their bowstrings taught and arrows—tipped with small fog bombs—ready to fly.

“_Fire!_”

The arrows whizzed through the air and were rewarded by small ‘_poofs_’ as the bombs hit either the ground or a person, exploding into a thick blanket of foggy powder. The _Edain_ erupted into frenzied confusion beneath them as Thranduil gave the order to re-nock their arrows with steel tips and fire them.

After several volleys, the enemy had edged away from the wall until they were a respectable distance down the path.

Some of the _Edain_, despite the fog, had managed to aim and fire their assortment of arrows and bolts, three of them finding their mark and striking the life out of the three elven hearts.

Thranduil stared at the bleeding bodies and rage welled up inside of him, his jaw set and eyes blazing.

“Sire?” came a hesitant yet hurried voice. Thranduil whipped his head to the sound and gestured for the red haired, sharp-featured elleth to continue before dodging a few bolts and handling his string so that it sang in the arrow’s wake.

“They are gathering towards the eastern wall. They found the gate and are trying to break it down. We have a regiment bracing the wall and archers waiting for their orders.”

“Tauriel, you lead the archers on the western wall. Dispatch the regiment when you see fit.” Tauriel turned on her heel and ran over the walls, keeping low and leaping over a few dead and wounded.

“Jaseric!” Thranduil caught the attention of a warrior beside him. “Take charge up here and have them take up their swords on my mark. We drive them into the wall.”

“Yessir,” Jaseric gave a polite bow before smoothly leaping atop the wall, calling for the next volley.

Thranduil shouldered his bow next to the empty quiver and unsheathed his twin blades, making his way down the inside of the wall to the waiting regiment behind.

“In formation! Open the gate! Archers at the ready! No one steps into the stronghold alive.” The warriors rushed to fulfill the commands, pushing the cleverly hidden gate a bit to the right of the main gate open. The warriors led by Thranduil rushed through. They flit behind the mass of _Edain_, surrounding the engaged half of them and pushing them under the fire of the archers.

Thranduil waited for the last volley of arrows to fully descend before giving the command to attack. The elves charged forward, knives drawn and clashing vigorously into the enemy.

Thranduil whirled and sliced, jabbed and swung. Bodies fell before him as a fire burned in his determined eyes, growing more enraged as he stepped over the bleeding body of an elleth. _Ai, there are so many._

“Sire! The bowstrings! They’ve been cut! _All of them!_”

Thranduil looked towards the archers on the wall, his eyes wide and cold horror seeping into his heart.

Only one named as in his mind; Denisale. The _ellon_ knew what he was doing. Without their bows this huge mass of _Edain_ was very well was a threat.

“Give the order!” he yelled to Jaseric. The archers drew their swords and leaped into the trees, dropping into the fray.

Then it all seemed to happen in slow motion.

“_**Aran nin**_!” Jaseric yelled from a tree. Thranduil turned to see an _adan_ charging furiously at him, already much too close to do much. The Man swung his broadsword, the tip slicing into the Sinda’s stomach, and catching in his mail. Thranduil staggered back, letting out a cry of surprise and tripping over the outstretched arm of an _ellon’s_ corpse.

Jaseric yelled again and drew his sword back. He let it slice through the air, hilt over blade. Thranduil tore his eyes off the man who towered over him to another _adan; _one already loosing an arrow aimed for Jaseric.

“_**Noro!**_” Thranduil yelled in futile desperation.

Jaseric’s sword found its mark right through the man’s torso. The opponent collapsed with the ring of his fallen sword.

Jaseric turned just in time to see the arrow fly into his temple, his body toppling from the bough.

The Elvenking clenched his teeth, biting back a cry of fury. This was too much. He stood in a stupor, listening to the cries of the wounded and dying, watching as they fell to the ground from the treetops, arrows jutting out of their bodies like a pin cushion. His vision flickered and suddenly he saw the swarming murk of the Marshes pulling at their feet as they were cut down and devoured by it; fires burning in the distance the din of the war dominating the pounding of blood in his ears—

“_Hir nin!_ The southern mass! They’re coming!” Tauriel’s cry cut through Thranduil’s stupor and he whipped his head around to face the _Edain_ who had led the attack on the southern gate, yelling their battlecry. The pounding of boots churning through the ground thundered nearer as the group— far too large to be called a rabble— came to meld in with their compatriots.

_Anor_ steadily sank to the horizon, it’s light illuminating the armor-clad persons that rushed towards them, flagged spears snapping.

Thranduil set his path to the gap between the oncoming regiment, slicing down anyone who dared challenge his path. He unclipped the pouch of orbs at his hip, and rolled one in his fingers. He had to go.

oOoOoOo

Anor... the sun

Noro... run

Gwador... sworn brother


	5. Plea

Chapter 5~ Plea

Legolas stirred, finding relief in his tense shoulders, aching chest, and sore legs. His hands were no longer fastened behind him and he was laying on his side. His stomach churned and he found that he was hungry. The crackling heat of a fire licked his cheekbones and he twisted away from it with a grimace. _Too hot too hot..._

Pins and needles still poked at his extremities, and the heat that enveloped him was suffocating. He thrashed a bit, still disoriented, and tore off a blanket he only then realized had been draped over his shoulders.

The _ellon_ groaned and rolled slowly onto his back.

It was still light, and the sun was sinking behind he treetops. The early stars winked at him with a light mirth. Mocking his helplessness, it seemed.

His appointed _Edain_ guards jumped at his sudden movement, the blankets draped over their shoulders sailing to the ground. The elf merely huffed tiredly and rolled over and they slowly sheathed their weapons. They knew the steel would not do much to protect them from the creature’s mighty magic, but the weight of the weapons in itself was comforting.

Legolas pushed himself to his elbows then dragged himself upright, blinking the fog from his muddled mind. He made it a point to keep his inner light down to the minimum.

His gaze roamed over the armed men, all huddled by campfires and underneath their blankets as he absently rubbed feeling back into his fingers.

Random items were strewn about the ground. The women in the camp scurried about, putting things in their proper place and hovering over ten patients that lay on crude pallets, all of them unmoving. He recognized the grey, stringy substance tangled into their hair and garments as well as the black puddles of liquid on the edge of the clearing.

A biting breeze wafted through the camp, the first freeze running chills through the _Edain_.

The captive’s guards hovered warily, and Legolas shot them an irritated flick of his lashes before turning his face to the breeze, sucking in the cold air and letting it seep into his bones to douse the coals that burned there. The cool comfort was soon chased away by the heat of the fire as the draft weakened and the misuse of his limbs pestered him.

Latching onto a young tree that flanked his position, the elf rose slowly to his feet, getting a feel of his condition. His wounds were already healing rapidly, but it always grants a bit of an advantage when one thinks their enemy is weaker then they truly are.

He took a step and looked down in consternation; his boots cannot have gotten _that_ much heavier... An iron shackle was clamped around his left ankle and the other end was staked firmly into the ground. Now the freedom of his hands turned bittersweet. It was much harder to saw through rope than it was iron. He stared disdainfully at the offending object for a while before sliding back down to the ground.

Legolas tilted his head to the sky, concentrating on taking deep, painless breaths of the sweet evening air. The men shivered and edged closer to their fires. The makings of frost began to creep at the ground and the lone elf found himself savoring the small blessing of his advancing health, for he did not feel the bite of the cold.

He fiddled with trembling fingers and tried to distract himself from the empty pit in his stomach by observing the camp once again. Those crates were still at the edge of camp. The _Edain_ gave them a wide berth and he wondered more than ever what could be in them, for whatever it was, it did not _feel_ ordinary.

A blanket settled around his shoulders and he jerked suddenly, whipping around into the scruffy face of Ashtan.

“Can’t fool me, _princeling_. Can’t do us much good if you’s _froze_ to death, aye?” he drawled, studying the captive’s light shuddering, though he had not guessed that was because the captive was starved, not cold. The haughty young creature had the nerve to scowl at him, light eyes flickering with something dangerous.

Legolas bristled at the name. So Denisale had told them who he was, no doubt. He settled for a flick of his lashes to accompany the glare as he curled his fingers around the fabric and tore it off his shoulders, letting it sail towards the fire.

Before the flames devoured the cloth, a calloused hand shot up and clutched it. Gresham rose to his feet and towered over his prisoner, his face a grim mask. “I believe our little jailbird is feeling a bit more like himself now. See to him will you?” he said to no one in particular before turning back to the fire.

Legolas glowered as his ‘_personal captains_’ surrounded him like a cornered kitten, though their wary eyes betrayed what their sneering lips did not.

They wrestled the elf for his elbows and finally managed to clamp a pair of iron manacles around his wrists that were also staked securely into the ground. The _Edain_ quickly recoiled from him once their task was complete and his hands dropped heavily into his lap and he stared down at them, wishing the Valar hadn’t humored him with that recent thought.

He wanted to berate himself for acting so rashly and slimming his chances of escape—or rescue— but couldn’t help but enjoy the second thoughts of caution in Gresham’s eye when Legolas defied him.

A middle-sized, wiry man with balding greasy black hair approached Gresham. His olive-tinged skin and hollowed eye sockets have him a ghostly look, and black beady eyes were set into his face like a jewels nestled into a crown. Dark blotches stained his trousers, and the adan’s knobby fingers held a goblet filled with what looked like water.

Gresham and the _adan_ exchanged whispers, occasionally glancing at Legolas, before the new _adan_ departed and ambled over to the captive.

With speed Legolas was not expecting, the _adan_ had his fingers tangled into his loose hair, forcing his head back and tipping the goblet forcefully to his lips. The elf barely had time to clamp his mouth shut —immediately recognizing the scent— but not before he choked down a rather large gulp.

A small burst of surprise and rage flared in his gut as he recognized the faint smell of poppy in the drink and knew if he had drank more he would’ve gone unconscious in seconds. He wondered what happened while he had been asleep that would cause his captors to drug him. After all, he tried hard to make it a point to look extremely weak and had made no clear attempts of escape so far.

He hated how his eyes lingered on the sloshing liquid and his parched lips reminded him that he was just as thirsty as he was hungry.

The _adan_ swore under his breath as some of the liquid spilled out of the cup onto his trousers that were already stained with unidentifiable substances that Legolas really did not want to think about.

“Let me _be!_” the weary captive said as he found the strength to pick up his arm weighed down by the heavy iron and push the goblet away from him.

“Is everything alright, Healer Jaen?” Gresham’s gruff voice floated over the smoke. The _Edain_ guards snickered.

_Healer? Really?_

“Yes, yes!” the _adan_ replied hastily before murmuring a few more curses. He leaned forward to stare fully into his captive’s eyes as his fingers tangled back into the hair at the nape of his neck; it made his skin crawl.

“Now listen _here_. You’re going to take this here mixture _willingly_. If you don’t, I will be obliged to _force_ it into you, and I assure you it won’t be a pleasant experience,” the _adan_ sneered, jerking his hair to punctuate each statement. The scorning whispers of the guards seemed to conjure this man’s ire. Legolas really wished everyone would stop yanking him around by his hair. He did not wish for an additional headache.

The elf merely stared and cocked his head to the side in the picture of innocence and let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding when Jaen released his grip on his hair.

“Very well then!” Jaen said with an air of finality, lifting his chin to the guards to glare at them.

“You cannot force me,” Legolas said suddenly, eyes leaping with dangerous amusement, eyebrow cocked and a smirk playing on the corners of his mouth.

His ease infuriated the healer. He crouched back down and took the elf’s chin his hand. The captive’s eyes remained serene and unperturbed.

“The rashness of your youth you will live to _regret_, albeit painfully,” he growled with leashed anger.

“You cannot force me, _**adan**_,” Legolas repeated in a low voice, singling him out with his own cold, calculating ire. He concentrated his Light to his eyes so that they gleamed unnaturally for a split-second.

Jaen recoiled in horror and retreated swiftly, leaving Legolas as alone as he could be in his situation. The weight of his guards’ unceasing vigilance seemed a heavier restraint than the chains themselves.

Going unconscious for a while had definitely helped ease the unrelenting tension of his mind and body knowing that he was in constant danger, not to mention having been out during the spider attack that seemed to have happened earlier; note the injured men, messy camp, and stains of black blood.

Legolas was able to pick out the disturbed earth where the Edain had dragged the spider carcasses out of the clearing and into the trees. The bulky, black bodies stood out from the surrounding tree trunks, illuminated in the scarce moonlight that barely penetrated the thick canopy of leaves overhead.

His muse was interrupted as the messenger boy, Gilgan, crashed through the brush and stumbled into the clearing, his face flushed and panting. His head swiveled as his eyes searched the camp.

“Sir? Sir!”

Gresham stood at the sudden intrusion and was now surveying the boy’s snagged and tattered clothing. Some twigs and leaves still clung to his hair and cloak. Gilgan gave a hasty bow upon noticing Gresham and his reedy voice piped out his message, smothered by his pants and the words tumbling together into a frantic mess.

“Slowly Gilgan! Now, what news do you bring?”

Gilgan fidgeted nervously now that he noticed almost every eye in camp was trained on him expectantly, many of them having risen and taken up their weapons; ready for the command to close in on the stronghold.

The boy took a deep breath before repeating his message, much slower this time. “The attack; it has begun.”

Murmurs of anticipation rippled throughout the crowd as the volume in the clearing increased.

Denisale had barged out of his tent to complain about the noise when he noticed Gilgan standing before Gresham. The elven Captain and old _adan_ General made eye contact and it took a mere nod from the latter for the Captain to understand the message.

“Gather up arms! We are to move out by dusk!” pronounced Denisale, taking authority of the situation.

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut to hide the horrified vulnerability shining in the depths. They were attacking his home and he could do _nothing!_ His father had admitted to the fact that all were not loyal to him and they must be wary, but what had he done? Gone off into the forest alone! He _knew_ of the encroaching darkness, he _knew_ of the evil beasts that lurked there, he _knew_—as part, half, of the Royal family—he must take extra care.

The same questions echoed through his mind. _What am I trying to prove? Who’s acceptance am I trying to gain?_

He could only dream of the danger erupting within the stronghold. And it was his fault again, wasn’t it? How would he face his father ever again after his... _blatant foolishness!_

If they were both still alive after this.

He gave his bonds an experimental jerk, more in helplessness than actually testing the strength of the restraints. Brow furrowed, he watched conflictingly as small rivulets of blood burst from under the iron and trickled slowly into his hand.

Legolas knew better than to struggle. They would only continue to bind him, and he knew he would be in an even more dire situation in that case. He restrained the urge to groan at the thought.

_Oh Valar, how have I gotten myself into this situation?_

His senses had screamed danger and warning from the second the elf had felt the harsh tug on his neck from his snagged cloak. They hadn’t dulled in their tension one bit while he was conscious, draining what little energy he had left and so desperately needed to heal.

Legolas _hated_ it. Hated it all. He hated the men, he hated the chains, he hated feeling so utterly useless and desperately helpless, he hated the axe that chopped down his tree, and he hated the tree that snagged his cloak—

To be honest, there weren’t many things he _didn’t_ hate at the moment.

_Wait, the trees!_

Like all other woodland elves, Legolas had a deep bond to nature, stronger than most actually. He often communicated with the trees during patrols; there was great advantage to the whole forest being your eyes and ears, and it proved to be very conservative in the past centuries. The warnings of intruders had saved countless lives and unnecessary bloodshed.

Well, almost the whole forest. The southern parts of Mirkwood near Dol Guldur had been taken over by the looming shadow of evil, enslaving the trees and lulling them into fitful nightmare, one from where it was extremely hard to awaken. Not impossible, but almost.

Seeing it as his last hope, Legolas pleaded with the forest, expressing all his desperation and anguish into his thoughts.

The darkened slumber caused the trees to be silent; not even the ever-present Song of _Arda_ was here to comfort Legolas now.

Legolas propped his chin on his up-drawn knees and concentrated on forming the words in his mind. ‘_Edain. Attack. South. Help. Las._’ It was all he was able to manage with his waning strength, but it conveyed a clear enough message. He hurled the words through the trees, imagining them tumbling past the brush and through the branches and into the very hearts of the trees themselves.

He had been so concentrated on getting his message across he hadn’t noticed that his elven glow had been growing brighter with the effort. His gaze had wandered through the camp, and he found himself staring into the eyes of a red-haired middle-age woman hovering over one of the injured men.

His gaze snapped away and he refused to look in that direction again and instead fiddled with the chains, hoping the trees carried with them his silent plea.

oOo

“Dispatch another regiment from the south!” Thranduil yelled above the clashing of steel and battlecries to the elleth warrior on the wall, Tauriel. She hunched down, and scurried across the length of the wall back down to the southern gate.

Chaos swirled around him and he held one of his twin blades in his left hand, clutching the pouch of orbs in his right, waiting for the right moment.

Their bows were useless now; Denisale had evidently slit each of the strings just a bit so they appeared to be intact, while in reality the strings could only take the tension of a few draws before snapping, possibly injuring the user with the whipping cord. The loss of the use of the small but effectively deadly projectiles was a greater setback then one might think. The warriors now had to engage in full hand-to-hand combat, which was closer to the enemy than preferred, but still manageable.

The main thing that worried the Elvenking was their enemy’s numbers. Just as soon as the elves had cleared a small section of the ‘battlefield’ more streamed in—seemingly endlessly—from the trees.

Thranduil stood in the path of the oncoming army, his eyes flitting over his charging opponents and assessing them along with the sinking sun on the horizon.

Some of the _Edain_ hesitated slightly, knowing very well that standing in the path of hundreds of heavily armed and running soldiers was suicide and wondered what his intentions were as they recalled tales of elven magic. They quickly shook themselves out of it and pushed on.

The Elvenking noticed their hesitation and smiled to himself. It was times like these that his exaggerated reputation of being lethal warrior worked to his advantage as it usually did. Though the gossip was slightly exaggerated, most of it was true.

They thundered towards him as he easily dodged their volleys of arrows. The dirt exploded into a dusty clouds as the projectiles struck the ground around him.

One-hundred meters. Fifty. Twenty.

At the last moment possible, Thranduil propelled himself from the ground, gracefully swinging onto a tree branch seemingly too high above him to reach.

The men cried out at the unexpected move and stumbled as they lost their balance due to the fact they had been bracing themselves to strike down the elf.

As a few in front fell, the ones behind were unable to stop, having been running full tilt, and crashed to the ground next to the fallen comrades.

Thranduil undid the sliver clasp on the pouch he was holding and rolled one of the orbs between his fingers, waiting for more of the army to pass underneath him.

The tree shuddered beneath him. A very strange feeling overcame Thranduil that froze his blood as he turned his attention to the tree. The sounds of the battle seemed to fade. An eerie whisper seeped through the branches, replacing the ever-joyous melody and gently ruffling the elf’s silvery hair. Unpleasant chills ran down his spine.

Momentarily abandoning his concentration on the havoc below, Thranduil leaned closer to the trunk and brushed the smooth surface, paying full attention to his bond with nature. The tree sighed as the eerie whisper filled his ears and repeated its broken message.

The noise was barely a whisper and the Elvenking had to strain his senses to the maximum to convert the aura into the words he believed had given him such a strong premonition.

He was unable to hear the entire message but the last two words struck horrible fear into his racing heart.

‘_Help. Las.’_

oOoOoOo

**A/****N**: I know, I know, these last few chapters should have really been cut down, but I didn’t find the nerve to do so. XC.

Arda... the World


	6. Sabotage

Chapter 6~ Sabotage

The whisper echoed over and over in Thranduil’s mind. He shuddered as the tree’s soft wailing chilled his bones and caused apprehension to skitter up and down his spine. He became almost entranced in the bond with the tree and desperately tried to decipher the first part of the message, but to no avail. He wanted to be sure where to find Legolas and became slightly frustrated at the unclarity.

He took a deep breath and tried to sort through the possibilities of his location the logical way.

He remembered clearly the sound that had caused Legolas to bound into the forest had come distinctly from the south. Yet, the trees there were shadowed by the Evil, and no longer took part in the melody of _Arda_. However the ill trees only occupied a part of the forest that was a few miles south of the stronghold. If Legolas was indeed within the heathy forest the message would have been much clearer. He eliminated that possibility from his list, narrowing it down to one option:

He must have communicated with the Shadowed trees. Generally unlikely, but not impossible concerning whatever his situation may be.

Satisfied with this explanation, Thranduil returned his attention to the battle.

The screams of the dying and wounded reverberated around him as the familiar sounds triggered horrid memories that threatened to pull him into its dark clutches.

I must find him. Legolas would never ask for help unless the situation was absolutely dire. No distractions!

A scream ripped the air and abruptly threw him back into the rising cacophony of an ancient battle that swallowed his consciousness whole.

oOo

_Chest heaving, he picked himself up from the dust only to be hurled backward against the towering spires as a mess of broken limbs and armor crashed right into him. _

_They lay for a while, regaining their bearings, harsh breaths sucking desperately for something pure from amongst the dust hazing the air. Thranduil offered his hand to the young soldier who only shook his head and proceeded to cough up a splatter of blood. The ellon was of average height; compact but with no small fill of loyalty that had led him to follow his prince on this mission._

_Steel clashed against fortified scales, again and again like the preface of every battle; a million wars in one. _

_Thranduil stood frozen, the emerald set into the ring on his finger glowing with replenishment as he squeezed the soldier’s hand._

_“Hir nin!” rasped the cry, tainted with the ragged breaths of blood gurgling in his throat._

_He whirled. A body crashed into the rocks beside them with a clang of metal. The soldier staggered to his feet, sending Thranduil a weary look before plunging back into the din with a piercing cry, leaping over the wild, thrashing tail that had sent him hurtling._

_“Go,” the soldier heaved, mindful of the broken armor biting his flesh under his weight and wringing blood from his skin. “Go, —ernil nin. I —have been proud—to call you so.”_

_Thranduil rose to a bland world of stone and fire, smeared with the tears in his eyes. He heaved the soldier to his feet with him with a rattle of torn, dismantled steel hanging over the ellon’s crooked frame._

_“We go together.”_

_The soldier smiled through bloodstained lips and they charged in a whirlwind of fury and steel, the emerald on his finger raging with the dark clouds collecting overhead. _

_They struck out against shifting scales, swords tearing flesh with an echoing roar with the maelstrom of a pounding wind and a ricochet of thunder. Gleaming eyes pulsated with linear swatches of pure darkness, radiating a heat of their own; whether it was fire or a dark hate, they did not know._

_The Serpent’s eye turned to the hateful green glow of the Ring on Thranduil’s finger, a stray trickle of black ichor bubbling at the thinned scales around its eye._

_“Aim for its eye!” he screamed, everyone diving to the stone as the beast lit up with a deadly radiance gathering in its chest._

_Heat seared through the very air with a faltering roar._

_Thranduil looked down to the jangle of steel sharing his cover and smiled at the same fading ellon. The solder returned the smile, blood making a small rivulet down his chin, the Light leaking slowly from his eyes. _

_“Together?” he said with trembling shoulder-clasp._

_“Together.”_

_They charged. The beast thrashed. Bodies were torn apart and crushed._

_The broken ellon fought alongside the prince._

_Roars shook the very mountain and boulders flew into a myriad of shells away from swiping claws and the sweeping tail. Swords clattered and sliced; bowstrings sang their symphony of death. Yet death was not to be found for their foe. _

_Smoke obliterated all else but the rising glow of the dragon’s throat, then billowed out in strangling clouds as they were whipped into a violent draft. The glow rose, then unleashed its poison to sear the figures below. _

_Wails broke out as hardened warriors broke under the pain before they were silenced with talons to their heart. Another body crashed overhead as the beast lumbered sideways, catching the soldier that had once been hacking at it’s underbelly and knocking him off his feet. _

_Thranduil was at his side in an instant, their gazes meeting in familiarity and echoing with that one word. Togethertogethertogether. _

_“Aim for the eye!” he called out again. “Together!”_

_An answering cry rattled the very ground as soldiers picked themselves up, tore out the broken armor, spit out the blood, and hurled themselves at the wide-eyed beast._

_“TOGETHER!”_

_Thranduil leaped, the soldier leaping with him. The Light had all but fled him completely yet he pushed on to his last breath. _

_They crashed into the dragon with force that sent it stumbling back a pace. Swords bit into its legs and it faltered._

_The ellon was ready. He could feel himself departing to glittering shores. For a second, the salt of the sea replaced the stench of burning flesh. For a second, the gentle yet mighty whisper of striking foam-capped waves neared over the din of the shouts and screams of agony._

_But only for a second. He pulled himself back by sheer force alone. _

_“Ernil nin!”_

_The blue eyes turned to him immediately and he sighed cathartically; the sea called and beckoned with gentle gestures but he walked the opposite direction. White shores were calling like the sweet smile of a mother beckoning her child to take his first steps, but he crawled the other way. _

_The ellon took a splintered shaft of a spear and Thranduil understood immediately. He heaved the ellon onto his shoulders, propelling him upwards with a last burst of strength as another flare of heat burst behind him, leaving his hair—once glittering like a banner— in a tatter of ashes._

_The broken soldier struck out with every once of will that had been blessed to his body and súlë alike, and the great eye of pulsing hate and slithering fire died._

_His vision faded as he was tossed aside in the Serpent’s fury. He met the swimming blue eyes of his prince and smiled as he left to dwell on vast shores and glittering skies that echoed in the same blue soulfulness._

_The ellon’s hand was fisted on his chest in his last dying wish. Together._

_Thranduil did not even hear the roar overhead or feel as his knees collapsed to the ground with hurricane of heaving wings._

_All he could do was stare at the frozen smile of the soldier and the hand clasped at his chest, still clutching the broken spear as his world spiraled down, down, down before erupting in a flash of green as the Ring lent his body power and knit his bones back together._

_He did not even know the ellon’s name._

_oOo_

_If your fighting in the fight of your life then stand,_

_We’re gonna make it through this hand in hand,_

_And if we fall,_

_We will fall together_

_Together_

_And when we rise,_

_We will rise together_

_Together_

-fKandC

oOo

“King Thranduil!”

Thranduil snapped out of his muse and whipped his head to the direction of the sound, taking a staggering second to meld back into the current world.

“Feren! What do you think you’re doing?”

Out of the corner of his eye, the Elvenking saw the flash of a blade beneath him followed by stinging blow to his ankle. The blow wiped his leg out from under him, sending him teetering backwards off the limb. He hung onto the branch by squeezing with the back of his knee and used and backward momentum to swing upside down and dispatch the _adan_ who had struck him with the flick of his wrist. Several bolts whistled past his head as he regained his balance and stood upright again on the branch.

Feren pressed his lips into a tight line and spared a second to exhale deprecatingly at the Sinda‘s close call before breaking his respite to parry a stray sword. He had been trying to make his way to his charge the second he had engaged but had been pressed back by a swarm of trampling bodies.

_Don’t you get yourself hurt, Thranduil. Your enemies are watching with a hungry gleam in their eyes... tangible or not, _Feren thought, casting a mindless glance to the southern tangle of wood before returning to search for the familiar smudge of silver amongst the sea of bland colors.

Feren knew Thranduil well; they had basically grown up together as best friends along with Galion, and he knew that faraway look in his eyes all too well.

Though Thranduil was an exceptional fighter—probably one of the very best in Greenwood—Feren knew it was dangerous for him to be in the middle of a battle when the memories took over. Only reflexes had saved the Sinda this time, and Feren dreaded the thought of his friend’s luck running out.

Feren was a warrior—captain of the royals’ personal guard—and he had no intention of leaving his king in the battle in such a state.

Feren leapt upward, propelling his body to balance on an overhead limb before dodging amongst the trees to hurtle over the wall, stumbling over the body of a dead archer as he did so.

Thranduil looked around wildly, still a bit dizzy after tearing away from the bond with the tree so abruptly.

All he knew now was that he needed to get to Legolas; no one else knew where he had gone.

He leaped to the next tree, and the next and the next, edging closer to the western wall.

He sprinted through the branches as if he was on solid ground, long legs leaping over the gaps like a prancing deer. He only slowed to dodge the bolts that whizzed past his face and thudded into the trees around him. The Elvenking inwardly flinched each time a bolt embedded itself into the rough bark, murmuring a quiet apology to the forest that was now swarming with battling men and elves alike.

The mass of men had now completely passed to his right to meet the regiment at the main western gate. The southern regiment slinked in and under the trees, not far behind.

A certain _adan_ in the crowd had set his sights on the unmistakable banner of silver that was the Elvenking. Squinting an eye, he set the middle of the elf’s back in his sights and squeezed the trigger...

The bolt shot off with a small puff.

Thranduil felt more than heard that he was being fired at. Acting swiftly, he leapt onto a branch above him.

He hadn’t even had time to turn his head before the bolt came whizzing right into the pouch of orbs that was clutched in his right hand. Thranduil let out a scream as the bolt grazed his wrist, forcing him to drop the pouch as all the orbs exploded at once into a misty white cloud, pierced by the bolt.

The powder flew into his eyes and it felt like they were being melted with a branding iron. The orbs fell onto the ground right in front of the western regiment, gaining screams of the elven warriors that were passing under him, and entangling them in its powdery net of pure agony.

_What?! No no no this is not right what—_

_Denisale. _

His body lurched as he choked on the polluted air. Another mistake. He sucked the powder into his lungs unwillingly, no longer able to hold his breath. A searing, hot pain cut into his insides as water dripped freely from his eyes, trying to wash the foul concoction from them.

He clutched onto the tree trunk and staggered forward to compensate for his body’s violent shuddering, to meet nothing but air.

He slammed into the ground and the air was chased from his lungs. Thranduil panted desperately to refill his them, only to be met by the same powdery fire that now raged in his lungs and eyes, seeming to wither his skin.

The burn was uncannily familiar.

Screams from other warriors cut into his head like an axe as they stumbled over each other’s agonized bodies.

Thranduil half-coughed, half-choked as he swayed to his feet and dragged himself forwards closer to the western wall, his body lurching spasmodically against the searing poison.

He kept his watering eyes shut tight to try to prevent more of the hot grit from entering his eyes, as it had exploded right into the wound on his wrist, which was now burning so intensely, it had begun to throb into numbness.

Thranduil felt as if he was in a skiff in the middle of a sea storm; the unseen world rising and falling about him like mighty waves. His stomach threatened to revolt and he tensed all his muscles, suddenly realizing his face was pressed in the dirt again. He curled up into a tight ball and covered his sensitive ears to block out the mix of shrill screams and yells of pain and confusion.

More warriors stumbled about him and several tripped over his shuddering form, their eyes closed as well as they groped for a way to escape the deathly veil-like cloud. He let out hisses of pain as they unintentionally stepped on his injured wrist.

Thranduil’s heart skipped a beat when he heard a familiar puff followed by a soft thunk. The sound then multiplied and was followed by more screams; this time that of the dying.

Crossbows. They’re shooting at us.

His heart crumbled as he began to realize the sheer number of immortal lives being cut short.

He tried to call out an order but it ended up sounding more like a croak.

More clicks. More screams.

Valar, no!

He tried again, this time the word cracking half-way and being nowhere near loud enough to overrule the confusion.

More powder was sucked into his system with every try, but he was sick of death and needed, needed, for this torture to stop.

Valar, anything, just stop!

These warriors had trusted him and were fully willing to put their immortal lives into his hands and he was not going to let them down just because he didn’t have a voice to call out the retreat.

Or strength. It was like something was sucking his very life force; slamming against its barrier with a mace.

He pressed the cloth of his cloak to his mouth and nose and tried to breathe calmly. He rose to his feet shakily and broke into the best of what he could call a run to where he thought the western wall was.

Strong arms gripped his shoulders and slid him onto a steed. He suddenly became aware of the clip-clop of hooves on the cobblestone and the creak of a gate swinging open then slamming shut behind him.

Thranduil’s eyes were still closed; he dared not open them to meet more of the poison.

His steed slowed, and stopped by order of the being who had hauled him atop the creature, in what Thranduil thought to be the courtyard that flanked the stables. The strong arms encircled his waist and pulled him gently off the horse, laying him gingerly on the paved ground, as his long legs folded beneath him.

Water was poured over his face and he exhaled shakily, his sides heaving as he drew in as much of the pure air into his lungs as he could in attempt to quench the searing fire that burned within them. He coughed out small puffs of the powder and wiped his eyes before opening them tentatively.

A face...with dark hair. He blinked several times to rid his red eyes from the cleansing tears.

Feren.

He almost sighed in relief. Though he knew from the gentleness from his rescuer and the fact that the guards had opened the gate on his order, he was not an enemy, he was doubly glad that it was his _gwador_.

Gentle fingers brushed strands of Thranduil’s hair from his face and dabbed his eyes with a cool cloth. Feren poured the rest of the water from the skin onto the Sinda’s bloody wrist that was caked in the milky poison, earning a surprised hiss.

Feren then pried the twin blade that was still clutched in his left hand in a white-knuckled death-grip, straightening the cramped fingers, and he put it back in its sheath at his friend’s side.

“Than...k you,... _mellon-,nin.”_

Feren smiled and helped Thranduil to his feet.

“I still owed you from the time I fell in the river,” he said smugly, causing his friend’s lips to quirk in a pained half-smile; better than nothing.

His blue eyes suddenly widened a he let out a small gasp, running full-tilt to the top of the wall.

“Retreat to the stronghold! Tauriel is your new commander!”

He tried not to look at the piles of twitching bodies that used to be the western regiment, in fear he would break down completely from torn heart-strings.

Now he needed to find Legolas.

Feren came up behind him and clasped his shoulder firmly in a friendly gesture. Thranduil turned his haunted, memory-tainted eyes to his friend.

“We need to find Legolas,” he whispered before bounding down the stairs with renewed strength to the courtyard to the waiting horse, followed by a very concerned and puzzled Feren.

oOoOoOo

**A/N: **To make things clearer, the fog orbs in Thranduil’s pouch were also sabotaged and replaced with that burning poison that will be made sense of later in the story. :)


	7. Approach

Chapter 7~ Approach

_Earlier that day..._

The sun peeked over the treetops, casting its warm light on the leafy canopy. Some of the light filtered through the branches and the small rays gently urged the four traveling inhabitants taking shelter under the boughs to awaken.

A small silver stream snaked between the gnarled trunks, its voice like tinkling bells as a dark-haired _ellon_ stooped down and scooped some water into the steel kettle, unable to hide his smirk in the dark navy cowl.

The _ellon_ tiptoed silently to one of the three figures tucked comfortably in their bed rolls, their breaths soft as they wandered in elven dreams.

All in one swoop of the kettle, the _ellon_ emptied the water on the three no-longer-sleeping and slightly grumpy elves, making care to get the most water on the smaller, dark-haired elf in the middle.

The elves shot up in their bedrolls with a start and reached for their weapons, then abandoned them when they saw the _ellon_ standing over them with a wet and empty kettle, laughing uncontrollably as the others scowled at him.

The brown haired elf began laughing and was soon joined in by the bigger of the two dark-haired elves in soaked bedrolls. The smaller of the elves crossed his arms crossly and glared at the young elf who had awoken him in such a rude manner.

“Don’t think I won’t get you back for that, Elrohir,” he grumbled threateningly.

Elrohir just laughed harder as he looked at his twin’s silent fuming; water dripping off his nose, his clothes clinging to his body, and hair plastered to his cheeks.

“I have been threatened!” Elrohir mocked his older twin and danced out of the way of a thrust of Elladan’s fist.

“You tread on eggshells, _Hir_ Elrohir,” chuckled the brown-haired elf.

“Naw, my poor brother here can’t gather what wit he has (he has to have some, being related to me and all, you see) to strike back so cleverly!” Elrohir barely dodged another wild swing from his twin. “See!” he laughed.

“Well then let’s see if that wit of yours is going to help you any while making us all a nice breakfast!” The third dark-haired elf said with a wink.

“But _ada—_!”

“And tend to the wet bedrolls while we change into dry garments, hmm?” The _ellon_ cocked an eyebrow, daring his mischievous son to say more.

After everyone was dressed in dry traveling attire they ate a cold breakfast of lembas and dry meat and fruit.

“How much longer do you think our travels will continue, Galion?” Elrond directed the question at the brown-haired _ellon_.

Galion pursed his lips thoughtfully before responding. “I would say about two days at most, one and a half even, depending on how fast we ride and how many stops we make.”

Elrond smiled and nodded. “We are in no hurry so there is no need to push the horses. Are we?”

Galion chuckled. “I suppose not. Feren has probably made a large enough mess of things while covering for me, I don’t think he can do much else in a few hours!”

After a spell of merry laughter, the four travelers mounted and spurred their horses into an easy lope.

“I thank you, _Hir_ Elrond, for returning to Greenwood with me. Thranduil has been troubled lately, and I’m sure your company will ease his mind some. Legolas will be pleased to have someone to spar with, I feel they have both deserve a recess from all the... happenings in Greenwood. This will be quite a pleasant surprise!”

It wasn’t like Elrond and Thranduil actually got along, (few tended to do so with that Sinda), but he had not seen the _ellon_ in a considerable length of time and hoped perhaps he had changed a bit for the better. Though it was hard to imagine. _Ah, wishful thinking._

“Yes, it has been far too long since we last enjoyed each other’s company. I hope all is well...?”

Galion gave Elrond a small half-smile that resembled more of a grimace, though he had been in _Imladrís_ during the skirmish concerning the _Edain_ rebels. The _Imladrís_ Lord nodded solemnly in understanding and subconsciously urged his horse to lengthen her stride.

Neither elves could even imagine what they were riding into...

oOo

As soon as Thranduil reached the bottom of the staircase of the western wall in his desperate dash to the horse in the courtyard, his knees buckled beneath him and he crashed onto the cobblestone floor.

Cold hands clutched the stricken Sinda’s heart with a new and severe wave of apprehension. A white-hot pain shot up his leg and arm as his body connected with the stones. The large hand of unclarity rubbed his vision, causing the smeared world around him to roll violently as he tried to pick himself back up.

Feren rushed to his side and helped his charge to sit up, propping the elf against his chest and pushing him down when he struggled to rise to his feet.

"What?! What is it Thranduil?! Where's Legolas? What's wrong?!" The warrior shook his friend's shoulders slightly, his thumbs digging into his skin more harshly than intended.

Feren wrinkled his brow in confusion. He didn't see any more wounds... unless he had broken a rib. Feren unclenched one of Thranduil's shoulders and slowly raked his fingers down his sternum and rib cage in a quick inspection, feeling nothing abnormal.

Thranduil's head lolled limply to the side, his haunted eyes glazed over with a thick, white veil. Pain lines etched deeply into his fair face and his whole body trembled, but not completely from pain.

oOo

_His heart raced. He was running desperately. Flashes of deep mahogany whipped steadily towards him. A mighty roar. Sharp, piercing stones. A grey abyss. Paralyzing fear._

_The sickening creak of metal being torn. He thrashed and struggled but the his chest was being crushed and everything became a whirling haze..._

I cannot die! I promised! _Saes_...

_A low growl. Searing lashes of pain. Then red. Just red. And pain. Unbearable pain._

No! Cel—

_Spiraling down, down, down..._

_Blackness._

oOo

Unclear worry fueled Feren's frustration for lack of explanation from his friend. He forced himself to take a deep breath and wait for the _ellon's_ hitched, raspy breathing to become less choked.

Thranduil's body convulsed and he desperately sucked air into his burning lungs. His whole body was aflame with the poison that now flowed freely through his bloodstream, leaving no point in his body that wasn't screaming in pain. He looked for the clear blue sky, but was met with the smeared figure of a dark head and worried face.

Feren set his friend down and looked desperately into his eyes, lightly slapping his cheek, then harder and harder when he got no reaction. Fear climbed steadily in his heart.

"Thranduil! Thranduil talk to me! What's wrong? _Saes! Saes mellon nin!_" Feren's voice climbed as he spoke, desperation seeping into his tone.

Feren fought the urge to scream as Thranduil's body hung limply in his arms, eyelids slowly drooping shut, completely unresponsive. The warrior pressed his ear to his friend's chest, his heart racing as abominable thoughts skittered through his mind.

Just then, Thranduil heaved a large gulp of air into his lungs, gasping as his eyes shot open and swam with terror and confusion. Feren relaxed immediately and his tense expression shattered into a relieved smile. He pressed his friend's body close to his chest and squeezed as if Thranduil would disappear if he didn't.

"You gave me quite a scare!" Feren's voice was muffled in Thranduil's hair.

The Sinda's light smile was washed away as his aching body protested against the pressure. Feren felt the small wince and immediately slackened his embrace and steadied Thranduil into a sitting position. He searched his friend's eyes with concern.

"You need not worry for me. I do believe it was the horrid poison."

He discreetly covered the blackened edges of the gash on his wrist with his cloak. He let the corner of his mouth quirk before his eyes clouded seriously.

"Those were no ordinary fog orbs, Feren. I would never use something so cruel even on an enemy; the poison should have never even been a part of our inventory, though I have an educated guess on how they got there, or rather, who planted them in the pouch I normally use."

He shuddered slightly, the sting in his lungs and body reminding him of the pure agony that wracked his system from the powder.

"They were planted?" Feren asked incredulously.

Thranduil nodded solemnly, then suddenly became alert. "Yes, and that is why we must leave immediately! Legolas should have returned by now."

"What? Who planted them? What does this have to do with Legolas? What happened?"

To Feren's alarm, Thranduil stood shakily to his feet and took a few tentative steps forwards to ensure the ground wouldn't lurch beneath him, then rushed to the courtyard and grabbed the horses' reigns. He walked purposefully and without falter, his wheezy breaths and small traces of the white powder clinging to his cloak being the only evidence that anything out of the ordinary happened.

Feren scowled, frustrated that Thranduil wouldn't give him a complete answer, but knew there was no point in trying to force it out of the _ellon_; he would tell him in his own time.

They mounted and rode through various courtyards across the palace grounds, heading towards the southern part of the castle, Feren noticed.

His protective instincts kept his eyes flitting to his friend from time to time, scrutinizing his the fluidity of his movements, and looking for signs of strain.

Apart from being somewhat out of breath and taking obvious effort to draw air in and out of his lungs—something to be expected— the Royal Guard saw nothing more abnormal than his friend riding one handed instead of the traditional half-open, two-fisted clutch; with his left hand no less, despite his right being dominant for these sort of activities.

Feren gave a raised eyebrow to the discovery and made a mental note to examine the _ellon_ later.

For now, Thranduil’s mind was set on one task in particular, and Feren knew—from experience, naturally—that Sauron himself couldn’t dissuade him.

oOo

Legolas' open-eyed slumber was met with a swift kick to the ribs. He shot up in alarm, immediately shaking off any drowsiness, while promptly sending a colorful stream of curses at the owner of the iron-toe boot. Legolas lifted his chin to meet Denisale's cold, dark eyes.

Legolas could have sworn they weren’t that color before.

He fumed that he hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep, still propped upright. His eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, and his muscles were as responsive as lead. However small the dose of poppy that had been forced into him, it was still taking immediate effects.

Legolas noticed the men of the camp were all lined up, armed with their choice of weapons and backs rigid at attention. The last remnants of supplies were being taken down and loaded into the wagons by the few women in the camp.

The sky was darkening swiftly, the sun's last rays casting its warm light through the branches.

"I thought you said he would be out by the time we were ready to move Jaen!" Denisale's voice boomed. The men in the line up visibly flinched at their captain's outraged tone.

Jaen cowered under the captain's hard gaze and managed to stammer out an answer. "He—he wouldn't take it! I tried, I really tried, believe me, he's—he’s a stubborn one, that one." He pointed a knobby, accusing finger in Legolas' direction, with something akin to a frightened pout.

Denisale growled lowly in his throat and gestured sharply to Ashtan.

"Get him ready to leave. We don't have the time for this."

He turned back to the line-up and began inspecting the soldiers.

Ashtan lumbered towards him, a pick axe swinging easily in his fingers. Legolas scowled at the familiar sight that brought his tree down in the first place and got him into this huge mess, to say the least.

The stocky man swung the pick axe with swift strokes into the ground, unfastening the peg that held the chain connected to the manacles. Once the peg was pulled out, Ashtan clamped more bonds onto his ankles to keep his stride short and slow. Legolas deemed that highly unnecessary. His limp did the job just fine, thank you very much.

The _adan_ jerked the _ellon_ to his feet, the latter biting back a small yelp as pain lanced up his leg. He looked up to scowl at Ashtan only to be met with Denisale's cold gaze once more.

The Sinda immediately straightened and returned the daunting speculation with a glare flashing in defiance as the captain circled him, surveying him up and down like a wealthy merchant examining a fine saddle horse for sale.

After a few tense beats, Denisale gave himself a satisfactory nod. Legolas’ courage roiled indefinitely in his middle. Never before had he counted a fellow Elda his enemy. _The prospect is worrisome, _the prince couldn’t help but think as he appraised the traitor.

Denisale did look quite formidable. Warrior braids marking his high rank spilling over armor-clad shoulders, calloused fingers absentmindedly drumming on the hilt of his traditional elvish sword.

"He'll make it. Gresham?"

"Ready sir!"

oOo

The Elvenking and his royal captain traveled in silence at an easy lope, their steeds weaving through the trees with familiar ease. They had exited the palace grounds through the orchard as Legolas had done and were now trailing his supposed path southwards.

The horses' hooves thudded rhythmically as they pranced over the ferns and undergrowth of the forest at their brisk pace.

Feren eyed his companion regularly, waiting anxiously for him to provide an explanation of the recent happenings.

Two minutes.

Three minutes.

Five minutes they rode in silence before Feren let out a frustrated huff, gaining a cocked eyebrow from the regally-poised _ellon_ next to him.

"By the _stars_, Thranduil! Don't keep me waiting any longer or I'll dump you in the river like the slippery fish you are."

Thranduil threw a smirk over his shoulder to Feren, their roles changing from a king and his Guard to two life-long comrades.

"That would prove quite difficult for you, Captain," he responded lightly, mirth ghosting on his lips, "If you had as much meat between those pointy ears of yours as you do on your bones, you would know that there is no river near here."

Feren's eyes twinkled at the banter and he promptly fired his shot, reminiscent to the days of peace long ago. _Peace; what a pleasant word. Like the_ _wisps of a dream just out of reach. Peace..._

"Aye, but there's a creek that runs near here," Feren laughed. "I would think you would remember from the time I threw you in after you fed my entire food supply to that buck."

Thranduil gave him a mock-pout. "My food stores were in there too! And how was I supposed to know he was going to run you up a tree."

The two _ellyn_ erupted into easy chuckles that quickly melted into wistful smiles as they recalled urgency of their mission. "Now I'm serious, Thranduil. I need to know what happened."

Thranduil took a deep breath and relayed all that happened, noticing how Feren's eyes grew wide to hear of the treachery of Denisale.

What neither elf noticed, was the silent figure creeping from behind them.

oOo

A small hooded figure tumbled through the trees into the clearing. He bowed politely to Denisale, still trying to catch his breath.

It was Gilgan; the messenger boy.

"Someone's coming this way, sir! Two of 'em! They're mounted and just left the palace." The boy's voice lowered. "I think one of them was the king, sir."

A malicious smile crept into the captain's hard eyes.

"Good. I'm sure our guest will assure us passage into the stronghold with minimum difficulty. Kinship is such a pliable thing, isn't it?"

He turned his face to Legolas, whose heart stopped cold as he realized what leverage he would make for the _Edain_.

Denisale's thin lips were curled in a twisted mirth, and an evil light flickered in his eyes like the tongue of a snake; venomous. The prince stood his ground, his legs no longer wavering under the new strain.

This wasn't the Captain he knew. Not at all.

oOoOoOo

**A**/**N**: I would love to hear your thoughts and theories! I apologize for this sad little chapter “:3.

ellyn... male elves (pl.)


	8. Uncertain Illusions

Chapter 8~ Uncertain Illusions

Tauriel let out a small battle cry as she fell to her knees and pivoted sharply in the rotting leaves, lashing out with her knives and watching her enemies' bodies fall away. Using a spare moment, she lifted her heels, struggling to see what was happening around her, but was alas pressed in from all sides.

Tauriel knew she needed to get out. Needed to see what was happening to her soldiers.

She sighed while swinging outwards to sever another _adan_ from _Arda_. _Her_ soldiers. She wondered what happened to cause the king to leave the battlefield (not many things could do so), thrusting the position of captain and general on her shoulders.

Warding off some of the hard-packed mass of _Edain_, she gave herself space to act. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an adan advancing on her. She waited a few pounding heartbeats.

_And, now!_

She swung up onto the branch above her and used the momentum to make a wide arc outwards, kicking the _adan_ straight in the chest and sending him hurtling backwards into the crowd to get pounded into the ground by the melee of the battle.

Tauriel pulled herself onto the limb and distractedly brushed a red lock of her wavy hair from her face that strayed from her warrior braids. The braids marking her commander.

The _elleth_ then sprinted through the branches, long legs easily covering the gaps. Her booted feet barely seemed to touch the bark before flying to the next limb. Her heart pumped excitedly and her extremities thrummed with adrenaline.

She came to the edge of the trees and quickly judged the distance from her position to the top of the wall. There were a few fighters she would have to pass over, but nothing she couldn't manage. A powerful thrust sent her leaping elegantly over the gap.

She smiled inwardly as she was reminded of the looks on Legolas and her brother's face as they panted on her heels at the cross-country foot races that took place at the seasonal festivals, crossing the finish line half a second before they did. That was one thing she could beat them at.

Her warrior instincts flared as an alarm wailed loudly in her head. She twisted her body mid-air like a feline, arched back barely missing the crude scimitar that would've sliced her in half like a gutted fish.

She let out a deep breath she didn't realize she had been holding when she landed on the white stone wall.

Tauriel sprinted determinedly to her destination, easily dodging flying bolts and cringing as she passed over unmoving elven bodies.

Realization of the weight and reality of her responsibility crashed into her like a charging troll.

She melted onto a crate in one of the small armor sheds located at large intervals around the whole perimeter of the barrier.

These warriors trusted her decisions with their lives, though many hadn't even met her. They lived or fell under her hand.

She buried her face in her hands. _What have I done to deserve this curse in disguise?_

Picking up one of the bows, she ran her fingers over the smooth wood and absentmindedly traced the leaf carvings with her fingernail.

The _elleth_ twirled the cut end of the bowstring and intertwined it in her fingers as her thoughts wafted back into mild curiosity of the disappearance of her king. She still couldn't comprehend that these rebels would never have been successful in their attack if they didn't have some sort of inside help. Someone who would know just where to strike with the sabotage to cripple their forces. What elf would work with mortals to destroy his own home?

She shook her head and sighed. There were too many things she didn't know. She abandoned her train of thought and combed her fingers through her untidy hair, untying her braids and plaiting them with the mark of her new rank.

Tauriel unsheathed one of her blades and looked at her reflection. If Thranduil believed she could do it, that she was ready for this, then so did she. A tiny part her mind wined that he only chose her because she was the highest ranking soldier near him, and he only acted in the spur of the moment.

_No. Thinking like that won't get you anywhere, Tauriel._ She closed her eyes and willed all her courage to life, reopening her eyes with a new, fierce light in them.

She suddenly stiffened. Legolas. Why was he not here? He always led charges such as this and yet he was nowhere to be seen. In fact, she hadn’t seen not heard hide or hair of him in the past few days... Not particularly odd, but still alarming. Feren has inquired after him yestereve and she had been unable to provide any information.

The small voice in the back of her mind recalled that the king had been giving orders to her brother before ordering her off to guide the regiments at the western gate. He wouldn't replace her for Jaseric. Unless.

Her breath caught. _Unless_...

The other part of her mind screamed at her to pay attention to the task at hand; there was no time to worry for one warrior when there were hundreds waiting for her command. She willed herself to listen to reason and stepped out of the shed with a tense, straight-backed posture that she hoped looked like confidence.

Probably not. She felt just about anything but confident right now.

She surveyed the battleground before her. The _elleth_ couldn't help but strain her eyes for her brother's dark red hair that he cut just past his shoulders. His lopsided smile. His arms around her and whispers that everything was going to be alright. They had each other and that was all they needed. Right?

She choked back a sob and blinked away the tears from her burning eyes. _No no no. Not now Tauriel. _Yet she could not ignore the sudden emptiness in her chest.

The _elleth_ shook her head to clear it and forced her attention to to the war going on beneath her.

The sky was darkening rapidly and would be fully black soon. Not the preferable fighting condition.

The _Edain_ were swarming the elves like vultures over a carcass. Bile rose in her throat. There were far too many Silvan helmets that lie unmoving on the ground compared to those smashed into the large mass, shining like stars on a moonless night. Except the sky was black with blood.

She strategized for a few fleeting seconds before turning to the inside of the barriers to dispatch more regiments.

And froze.

The courtyards were empty. Tauriel slowly shifted her eyes back to the battlefield. _This is all we have left?!_

"FALL BACK! TO THE STRONGHOLD! FALL BACK!"

Some warriors began to break away from their engagements and leapt into the trees and inside the walls. Tauriel rushed down the stairs and called out commands to the elves.

"I need some to get the wounded inside. Others alert the healers and help them prepare for the injured. Everyone else stays here to help the remainder get inside inside the walls. Pass it on!"

She slipped through the concealed gateway and made sure to click it shut behind her.

"DEFENSE POSITION TWELVE!! DEFENSE POSITION TWELVE!! FALL BACK! INSIDE THE STRONGHOLD, FALL BACK!!"

The elven fighters sprinted through the chaos and quickly made a semicircle around the gate. Many of them were carrying the wounded.

The soldiers made a solid barrier and warded off the _Edain_, allowing the wounded to stream into the gates. The last scouts that had been searching for the injured jumped into the elven blockade and rushed inside the stronghold.

"NOW!!"

The semicircle dissipated and melted inside the gates that shut behind them.

She heard a strange screech above her and turned in time to see a young Great Eagle (for he was only the size of a pony) glide through the air. With a screech, his wing was met with a flying projectile; most likely an _adan’s_ bolt.

It staggered violently in the air and flapped back towards the forest.

The still correctly-functioning part of Tauriel's mind wondered what one of the Great Eagles was doing in Greenwood, but all she cared for now was finding Jaseric.

Tauriel weaved through the crowd in the courtyard, ignoring the rushing healers and swirling havoc, searching desperately for her brother; he was the only family she had left. She _needed_ him. Needed him to be there to comfort her at night when she dreamed of their parents. To give her that lopsided smile of his when he overpowered her in a sparring match. To whisper comfortingly into her ear;

'_It's gonna be alright, Tauri. We have each other, right?'_

She choked back a sob and blinked rapidly to clear the tears that blurred her vision.

"Captain? Captain Tauriel?" She whipped around to face a russet haired warrior, his vibrant green eyes peeking through his long lashes.

"Dorthion?"

She recognized him as one of the warriors in her regiment that was friends with Jaseric. They had always been in the same training classes as elflings, but she never got to know him.

Her heart rate climbed as she noticed his nervous fidgeting, bloody clothes, and the heartbreak in his eyes.

"Captain, I-I think you'd want to come quickly."

She rushed after him to freeze mid-step. A crumpled body lay in the corner of the courtyard, an arrow protruding from his chest. She recognized it immediately. Her nightmare had come to life.

"No. No no no no. This-this can't be. I-I... brother _no_..."

Tauriel melted to the cobblestone, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched the front of Jaseric's tunic and lay her head against his chest. She squeezed his body tight as her mind swam in sorrow.

She let out an ear-piercing scream. Her chest was numb and she could only lay over him as sobs of grief violently shook her frame.

_Why? What have we done to deserve this? He deserved life! First adar and naneth and now you. Oh brother, muindor nin. I love you; don’t leave me!_

Tauriel didn't understand. Everything had been going well for the first time since _adar_ and _naneth_ were killed. Her and Jaseric had always stuck together; it's how they survived.

They had found a new home, a new family—almost—and their own little niche in the way of the world. Now it all came tumbling back downhill. She cursed the Valar for allowing this to happen. She desperately wanted to understand; wanted someone to blame.

Dorthion stood a polite few paces away, hands clutched behind his back and tears dripping silently down his face. He thought it a good time to speak.

"He died a hero. He—he saved the king's life and didn't have enough time to save his own."

Tauriel turned her eyes to him, and Dorthion was taken aback by the furious fire that burned in them. He chided himself that he probably should have stayed silent, but he was desperately grasping for a way to comfort her.

"I see."

She had found someone to blame.

oOo

Elladan looked up at the violet sky sprinkled with some of the early twinkling stars and smiled.

"I think this will be an appropriate spot to spend the night," said Lord Elrond, pointing to a small glade within the trees rimmed with rotting trunks and mossy boulders. Bramble thickets adorned with bright red berries accompanied the ferns at the edges of the grassy clearing.

Galion nodded. "There's a small stream close by that we can refill our water skins and water the horses."

After everyone had dismounted and camp was set up with a fire crackling merrily in the center of the glade.

Elrohir led the horses away to the creek for a drink and to replenish their water stores.

The three elves reclined on their bedrolls, beginning to eat their evening meal.

Elladan heard the disturbance of the thicket behind him and smirked.

"A deaf dwarf could hear you a mile away, Ro. You can keep your wit, I'll keep my light feet," he said without turning his head.

No response.

Odd.

"Ro?"

The rustling continued but got no closer. A screech.

Elladan froze. That was definitely not Elrohir.

He rose to his feet, a dagger ready in his hand. He crept to the rustling. A figure was thrashing in the thorny bramble, and more screeches erupted from its... _beak_??

Elladan rushed forwards and sure enough, there was a bird tangled in the vines and branches. Not just any bird; this bird was the size of a small pony; it had to be a Great Eagle.

He gingerly brushed his fingers around a bleeding gash on its wing, saving his astonishment of why on _Arda_ there was an Eagle in Greenwood for a later date.

Gently, so as not to further harm the beast, Elladan used his dagger to cut away the thorny vines and pulled the twigs from its feathers with a healer’s care. The beast looked at him with large questioning eyes, then pulled its gaze away to ruffle its feathers and preen them with its sharp, pointed beak.

His feathers were all a deep brown with an almost grey tint; his beak resembling the color of an egg yolk and smooth as enamel.

Elladan whispered words of encouragement to the creature as he coaxed it back to camp, noticing how it’s soft wary eyes flicked nervously to the surrounding shadows of the forest.

"El, what have I said about leaving the ca— _what on Arda is that?!" _Elrond stopped his chiding mid-sentence and stared at Elladan like he had just proposed to invite Sauron over for tea.

Elladan smiled and shrugged sheepishly, color creeping into his cheeks. "He was hurt, _ada_. Don't worry," he said quickly, diminishing the expectant look on Elrond's face, "I know just as much as you do to why he's here. I just found him just beyond that thicket patch."

Elrond sighed and shared a look with an astonished Galion.

"Is this normal?" said Galion, motioning to Elladan and his position near the Eagle.

Elrond gave him a half-hearted grin. "This isn't the worst they've dragged into my midst."

"Why I ever wanted children is beyond me," Elrond muttered. Galion turned away to hide his stifled chuckle.

"Very well, bring him here. Let's patch you up little fellow."

oOo

Elrohir let out an audible sigh, his chin cupped in his palms and elbows resting on his knees as he watched the horses guzzle down some of the fresh spring water and crop the river-side reeds. He made tracks in the soft grass with his finger and watched dragonflies skim over the glassy surface of the water.

_Always be alert, no matter your surroundings. A clear head is a head that is still attached to your shoulders,_ Glorfindel's training scolded him.

The ellon sighed again and stood, turning in a circle to at least say that he was familiar with the he area.

His gaze stopped on a soft glow in the distance that illuminated the trees. He stared at the light curiously and watched it flicker on the underbrush that crouched next to it, like firelight. His gaze momentarily darted back to the horses as they grazed peacefully by the creek.

Deciding that the beasts were in no danger and would stay put, he unsheathed one of his long blades and crept forward.

Voices and several pairs of heavy footsteps were discovered as he neared the light in what appeared to be a clearing; too heavy to be elves and too light to be dwarves. That only meant one thing; humans.

He pulled his cowl over his head to hide his pale face and melted into the shadows taking position behind one of the thick trunks that easily covered the span of his body.

_A camp. A human camp. __This is puzzling. _The woodsman never ventured farther than from the very edge of the forest..

He caught a glimpse of a dark navy cloak and a mess of shoulder-length dark hair. His heart dropped into his stomach and he stiffened, his veins running cold. A second glance proved that he was not dreaming.

There stood the familiar form of his little human brother, Estel.

Estel whispered something too quiet for Elrohir to hear to a tall, blond...elf?? His hair was a rich gold with streaks of russet, but Elrohir did not recognize him. What is an elf doing conversing with these _Edain_? Better yet, what is Estel doing here?

It would not have been so odd to find that the clumsy young human had trailed them from _Imladris_, for he had begged to go along and see the strange wonders of the woodland realm, but was swiftly and firmly denied access to this much danger. He must have managed to slip away from Glorfindel; an admirable feat indeed.

Elrohir bit his lip and quickly made his decision. He turned back to where they were camped, mind swirling with a million questions.

_What on Arda is going on??_

oOoOoOo

**A/N:** Agh I apologize once again for the pitiful length XC. I promise to make up for it in later chapters :).

Muindor... brother (only by blood)


	9. Vision

Chapter 9~ Vision

_A forest garden, lush and beautiful, carried its sweet aroma on the morning breeze. Sunlight filtered through a canopy of intricately-shaped leaves, the yellow glow giving them the appearance of having being dipped in molten gold. It warmed the soft blades of grass, giving the scene an ethereal, otherworldly look._

_Various species of climbing flowers and ivy adorned the weathered trunks of trees, crowing the grey bark in a flurry of delicate colors._

_Slabs of uneven ovals of white stone stood out in the grass, marking the small trail that weaved among the shrubbery, visiting a various patches of the fragrant woodland flora._

_The slabs grew smaller and smaller as they neared the shore of a small pond, rimmed with low reeds. The clear water sparked in the golden sunlight._

_To the left was a small archway made of coral climbing roses, their dark leaves complimented by the light green of the intertwining ivy._

_A small wooden bench carved with woodland designs sat under the arch by the waterside. And just yonder stood a proud and mighty willow tree, the tips of the hanging vines lingering on the water's surface, the harsh but warm light making them almost transparent and the unnoticeable breeze pushing them to draw small, circling ripples in the water._

_A rail-less flet was perched on one of the willow's thick branches overlooking the pond. Multicolored ribbons were tied to a small protruding branch near the trunk of the tree._

_A few plump pillows were propped comfortingly at the base of where the flet met the tree._

_The scene had a magical, secretive air about it; a place that had seen many joys and merriments._

_The scene slowly faded with an urging breeze carrying the remnants of the soothing fragrances of the flowers along with the vivid colors of the garden._

_A heart-stopping, deafening roar interrupted the peace of the forest garden._

_The fading tranquil vision was sent scattering away with an unintelligible and violent flurry of mahogany, and followed by a blood-curdling scream of agony._

_It was no ordinary yell of pain, but thick with emotion that eventually died out into chocked sobs. There was despair, sorrow, heartbreak, and indescribable pain laid into the voice; enough to make one fall to their knees with an aching heart, but what could be heard most of all was the desperate will to live. As if the scream was a last attempt to make a stand against the evil that befell its owner, cutting its life painfully short, or casting the life into a dark pit, never to be the same again; it's very existence an everlasting agony._

_The was a pause of silence before the vision erupted with a roaring flare, the blazing heat taking up everything in its path. And in its path... _

_stood the Palace of Greenwood. It's great stone walls crumbling in the ominous white flames that licked everything they could get to._

_But alas, there stood the forest garden. Ever tranquil and everlasting. _

_But this time instead of the peaceful aura, there was one of wistful sadness; the joy but a faded memory; a dream. The vibrance of the flowers diminished, the vines and shrubbery overgrown and grey. The ribbons snapping in the nighttime breeze, now faded._

_In the distance stood the silhouette of the cave palace of Greenwood, now no longer inhabited. Rooms and airy passages snaked under the ground, staircases and corridors carved into the stone. It had a protective, steadfast air about it, as if calling its children to enter into its unbreechable bowels._

_The scene flashed back to the horrendous blaze that devoured the current Palace of Greenwood, the flailing limbs and heart-wrenching yells of the dying slicing the night like an arrow. _

_The vision faded with unearthly wails of terrible grief and a flash of fire reflected in terrified, haunted, icy blue eyes. The eyes closed and brought an abrupt, dark silence._

oOo

"_Sidh! Sidh, ada_. Wake up!"

Lord Elrond shot up in his bedroll, long limbs tangled in the sheets and hair clinging to the unnatural perspiration on his forehead. His heart hammered and chest heaved as he looked around wildly, calming somewhat when he spied the familiar faces of his worried children and Galion.

He took a deep breath to clear away the vision and sagged back against Elladan's chest, brushing away Galion's probing fingers from his neck.

"I'll get the _miruvor_." Elrohir stood and went to rummage in the saddle packs. Elrond gave him a weak smile, but his eyes stayed troubled from what he had seen.

"It was a vision wasn't it, _ada_? What did you see?"

Elladan repositioned Elrond so he could look at his face, his eyes full of concern.

Elrond relayed what he saw, the expressions on the other _ellon's_ faces deepening with confusion.

After a spell of silence, Galion spoke up quietly, "Do you have any idea what it means? We relocated to this palace right beneath the Mountains of Mirkwood after the queen died; I don't think staying at the cave palace would've helped keep Thranduil from fading; too many memories." Galion looked very thoughtful. "But I do not recall a garden like the one you described anywhere."

Elrond sighed. "Though the visions of foresight are often rather vague, I believe I understand some of this one. I will admit I have had numerous others that strongly led me to believe the well-being of the Realm was not in tranquility, and your updates of the tension among the people has led me to accompany you on this path." Elrond flashed Galion an apologetic smile, but his grey eyes remained remorseful. "I suddenly have an urging need to speak to Thranduil about this."

Galion curved the corner of his thin lips in return.

"Do not think I have not noticed that you have come along for just the pleasure of it."

He gestured with his arm to the South where the foul creatures brooded in the sickening trees, indicating that passing through the forest was not something most travelers considered a holiday.

"Aye, Galion, I only hope we are not too late."

oOo

Feren shot Thranduil another side glance, his face deepening with concern. Though he was concealing it very well, Feren could see his face flash with pain to any unexpected jolt. The Royal Guard aligned their horses until their knees were almost touching. Then, quick as a flash, Feren tore the reins out of the Sinda’s hand and slowed their steeds.

Thranduil looked at him with shock, his lips parted in an 'o'.

"And just _what_ do you think you're doing?!"

Feren dismounted and strode over to Thranduil's side atop his white horse. Before he could protest, Feren had his arms looped firmly around his waist and was pulling him off his horse and to the ground, lowering him onto a fallen trunk.

"Feren!"

"Do not think I do not know you by now, Thranduil,” he admonished. “You will not stop no matter the sincerity of my pleas, so I have given you no choice." Feren pulled the healing kit from the saddle pack and held out his hand to a still-stunned Thranduil. "Let me see your wrist."

"There's no time for this Feren! Don't you understand that Legolas is most probably in danger?! We need to _mo_—"

Feren shook his outstretched hand. "Your wrist."

"No. Help me back onto my horse."

Feren sighed. "See, you admit to your weakness."

Thranduil let out a undignified sound that sounded similar to a growl. He grew more irritated with every statement.

"Yes I need help, my leg—"

He suddenly stopped short, realizing his slip too late.

Thranduil had all but finished the sentence when Feren yanked off his left boot and cut away the bottom of the legging so that it hung in shreds over the middle of his calf, exposing a nasty, jagged cut running from the middle of his shin, to the ankle bone. The wound was puffy and shallow, not able to go deep because of the bone, but it was dark purple with bruises and stained with crusted blood.

"_Ai_!" Thranduil let out a hiss of pain and clenched his teeth. Feren looked up from his inspection to glare at the Sinda with his foreboding dark brown eyes. He recalled the infliction of the wound being when the adan struck his foot from under him while he was perched on the tree.

"It may not matter how _soon_ we get to Legolas if you are too _weak_ to provide him with the help he needs!" Feren glared up at Thranduil from beneath his dark lashes.

The Sinda let out a resigned huff as the warrior finished firmly wrapping his ankle. He hated to admit it—even to himself—but he felt much better and could walk easier after he had pulled his boot back on.

"Now, your wrist." Feren held out his hand accusingly again, not missing the fact that his friend had been discreetly pushing the wrist farther and farther into the folds of his cloak, concealing it completely.

"My wrist is fine, we need to go. _Now_." He gave Feren a look that could freeze the Cracks of Doom and clearly stated '_that's an order'._

"I will tie you to a tree!"

"You have no rope." Thranduil stood and swung up onto his horse with his renewed natural ease to emphasize his point.

Feren sighed and mounted his own steed, glad he had at least been able to care for one of his friend's most hindering injuries; an endearing task indeed.

They both didn't notice to two hooded figures peering out from the depths of the trees.

oOo

Legolas curled into a tight ball, trying to protect himself from the striking boots that fell upon his body with unrelenting vigor.

No one bothered to hold the end of the chain that connected his wrists, not that Legolas could do anything at the moment but tighten his ball and grimace with pain.

He let a small groan pass through his parted lips, his eyes rolling to the back of his head to try and block out the white sparks that flew across his vision. He cursed his boldness and schemes of attempted sabotage to the soldiers.

His tricks had ended with several broken noses and twisted ankles, along with a few broken fingers and sprained wrists.

Apparently, the _Edain_ didn't appreciate his efforts and had no problem letting him know, especially with Denisale out in the forest with Gilgan, spying on the king.

Legolas' ears rang with another well-aimed kick that had somehow found its way to his bruised rib cage. His head throbbed with the effort to stay conscious. His hearing declined and fell into muffled white noise with the shouts of encouragement from the contingent of soldiers.

The shouting suddenly died out as a deep, angry voice boomed through the clearing. The blows lessened and eventually stopped, and Legolas fought away the last of the dark mists at the edge of his vision that threatened to pull him into oblivion.

He opened his eyes tentatively, thankful for the darkness of the night. His gaze ran over iron-tipped boots and moved up revealing a fully-armed armored elven warrior. Denisale.

The captain crouched down on his knees next to the golden prince and gently picked him up into a seated position. Bright lights flashed across the Sinda’s vision with the movement and he let himself be propped up against a tree.

He took Legolas' chin in his fingers and tried to twist it upward to inspect the bruises on the captive's face. Legolas immediately jerked away from his touch.

With a scowl, Denisale's twisted the golden locks at the back of his head into his fingers harshly and proceeded with his inspection, brushing his fingertips over the bruises on his cheeks, and pulling at his eyelids to check his pupils.

"I would pray that Elbereth grants us a starry night if I were you, elfling. Your _ada_ is injured, and he will need all the help he can get with the fight I'm sure will take place. Unfortunately, our plans may not be to his liking, and he will not go quietly. He is surely not known to."

Legolas glared defiantly at Denisale, his blue eyes blazing with a bubbling, helpless anger. Like the liquid death exploding from the heart of a volcano.

Legolas was exploding now. He clenched his fists and hurled them with all his strength into the captain's torso, leaving the stunned _ellon_ gasping for breath.

Taking a split second to recompose himself, Denisale took up the chain and thrust the end of it across the prince’s cheek, the impact snapping his head to the side and thrusting him to the ground. Legolas had been able to catch his fall with his bound hands and kept his eyes lowered to the ground, not wanting to face the wrath of the captain.

That was very unexpected. It was one thing to betray your own people, yet it was another to act so violently towards your kin.

The side of his face throbbed and his eye pooled with tears until they finally spilled from the corner of his eye, trying to soothe the intense shock of the blow.

Denisale jerked his captive to his feet with evident ire.

"We move out as planned,” he growled. “He's mine,” he indicated to Legolas with another jerk of the chain.

And so they started northward.

The green eyes of a woman peeked outside of the tarp of the covered wagon, grimacing as the captor and captive exchanged blows. The golden prince no longer held such a strong, defiant air about him as he kept his eyes lowered to the ground, blinking rapidly and struggling to take even breaths.

The woman shook her head sadly and grimaced again as the boy was jerked to his feet. She concealed her fair face with her dark cowl and wondered if this was all really worth it.

oOo

Torchlight was now visible in the trees ahead to the two warriors. Their steeds continued to pick their way swiftly and skillfully amongst the underbrush, hardly making a sound. The flickering light was most definitely making its way towards them.

The two riders dismounted, their hands lightly drumming against the hilts of their blades in readiness and wary anticipation.

_They better not have caused him any harm..._

Thranduil set his face an a determined scowl, the cloudy poison still lurking in his bloodstream causing great discomfort. His ankle throbbed from the bouncy ride and his wrist was no better.

He took a peak at the gash that ran across the inside of his wrist to the middle of his forearm. The deep groove was crusted with dried blood, but the edges of the flesh were an unnatural ominous black.

The Sinda widened his eyes and blinked rapidly to clear his head from the dancing grey spots. His limbs were as heavy as lead and his lungs burned with every intake of breath.

_Just a little longer.._. he promised himself.

The lights were now accompanied by several dark figures that crept among the gnarled trunks. They stopped at the edge of the small glade dotted with underbrush Feren and Thranduil had stopped in.

One of the taller dark figures stepped forward. The sound of his slithering blade was followed by those of the king and his Guard as they pulled the weapons from their sheaths and held them out defensively.

"Do not tarry in the darkness like a thief and a coward."

The tall figure flicked his wrist and lights flared around them from all sides. The light of the flames danced mockingly amongst the trees, beckoning any challengers and piercing the darkness with their fierce glow.

Someone had to have lit the flames; they were surrounded.

It took all self-control from Thranduil to remain unflinching, blue eyes flaming as the figure pulled back his hood, exposing the face of his ex-captain Denisale.

In one hand the _ellon_ held his sword, in the other, the end of a chain; whoever it led to was blocked by Denisale's imposing stance.

"Come forward Legolas. I do not doubt you have been longing to see the face of your father."

Legolas had been preparing himself for this moment the whole miserable travel to this glade, but was not ready for the pure agitation rolling off Thranduil’s demanding presence as he stepped forward.

In that moment, Thranduil's composure broke. Again.

oOoOoOo

sidh... peace

miruvor... an elvish strengthening cordial, tasting somewhat like a sweet liquor


	10. Rescue

Chapter 10~ Rescue

Legolas immediately noticed that Thranduil was dressed in his leather and mail armor, bloody and sooty, obviously from being engaged in battle.

He also observed—with alarm—that his _adar_ held his sword in his left hand, his dominant right hanging limply in the folds of his cloak. He remembered Denisale saying something about an attack and his father being injured; he only wondered to what extent.

He hopefully peered into the darkness behind his two rescuers and gulped as he saw no one.

_Is my foolishness going to cost us the entire kingdom? Sweet Eru, protect us. _

Feren stood firmly at the king’s side, unconsciously edging closer to his friend as he angrily surveyed the prince’s bound and disheveled appearance; the bruises marring his face, sloppy, bloodstained bandages tied around his limbs.

He snuck a side glance at Thranduil, shuddering at the furious fire that shone in them.

"What do you and your pathetic band of peasants want, Denisale?" Thranduil growled.

A small smile curved the former captain’s lips, but his eyes remained dark and unreadable.

"We offer a bargain. The life of you and your son in exchange of unhindered passage to the stronghold."

Thranduil smiled maliciously, his anger bubbling at the surface. His voice was dangerously serene and unstrained, though it carried clearly across the glade and beyond to the soldiers that surrounded them.

"Do you take me for a fool, Denisale? Why should I hand the innocents into your hands to be slaughtered? Neither do you have the authority to bargain with the lives of me and my son which belong solely to us. Stop this charade, Captain, and you may find forgiveness in my eyes. You and your peasants may still have a chance for a trial or a merciful and swift death."

Denisale straightened, unsurprised with the haughtiness in the king’s tone, which had gained several disapproving growls from the soldiers spread in the trees.

He inwardly bit his lip and struggled for words. Swiftly coming to a conclusion, he delivered a harsh kick to the back of the prince’s knees, earning a surprised yelp.

Before anyone knew what was happening, Denisale had his left arm looped around the prince's neck, twisting his hair into his fingers, and the heel of his boot digging cruelly into the arrow wound in his calf. He tilted the captive's head up by his hair, and placed his blade against his exposed throat, the chain binding his hands buried firmly beneath his other foot.

Though he knew he would never slit the young _ellon’s_ throat, he hoped it would prove a good intimidating factor in his argument.

He could never be more wrong.

Denisale looked up sharply as the cold steel of a blade bit against his own neck. Thranduil's eyes burned with fury, and Denisale's widened in surprise; had had neither seen or heard the king move.

He could've sworn he saw the left side of the Elvenking's face shift and flicker, foggy patches moving across his left eye like a summer breeze blowing clouds from _Anor's_ face. The captain's heart churned as he remembered what lay below the illusion.

His eyes flickered with a hazel hue that could be mistaken for a trick of the light and doubt flew through his mind; if something so horrible could not break Thranduil, would Ausocitin’s schemes succeed in driving him to his knees?

Ah, but that was where Denisale was wrong. He was very much broken, and Ausocitin knew it. Ivy grew over the ruins of Thranduil's crumbled walls, and it was only a matter of time before someone probed the vines and discovered the weakness of the walls.

But was it all a grand illusion? One could never know with this _ellon_.

"Move away, Thranduil, or your precious heir is dead."

Thranduil turned up the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained cold enough to freeze _Anor_ in the sky.

"Do not think I don't know that you are not capable of killing him. But you know full-well that I will not hesitate." He pressed the steel harder to Denisale's neck to emphasize his point. "Let him go."

Denisale quickly laid out his options, his eyes skittering over the king's body.

Legolas peered at the two adversaries from beneath his golden lashes. Abruptly and with all his might, he jerked his hands upward, unsettling Denisale's foot on the chain.

As the former captain stumbled backwards, Legolas stood, narrowly ducking under his father's hovering blade.

Denisale thrust his iron-tipped boot with all his might to the wound above the prince’s knee, causing him to cry out and collapse behind his father whose blade sliced through the air, coming toward the ex-captain.

Denisale caught the king's blade with his own and used his backward momentum to slide under it, releasing the weapons from their locked position with a slithering hiss.

Denisale could already see the king's great skill with blades, but he was at a disadvantage, being injured and obviously more used to his twin blades, he noted, seeing the identical sheathed blade that bounced on Thranduil's hip.

They exchanged a series of parries and thrusts and blocks, Thranduil backing down into a defensive style rather than one of offense.

Denisale could see a struggle behind the fury of the blue eyes. He feigned a a blow to the left and brought the flat of his blade towards the king’s side.

Thranduil, having anticipated the move, stepped backward to avoid the blow and strike with his own weapon.

But what he didn't anticipate was the sheer force of the strike that overpowered his current weak state and the tree that flanked his right.

Denisale's blow thrust him against the tree, and Thranduil reached out with his right to steady himself on the trunk, solely unprepared for the clout to his injured ankle that caused his knee to buckle.

Denisale quickly stepped to the right, pinning the stunned king to the tree now behind him. They locked blades, the shining steel crossed at their chests. Denisale reached out and grabbed the Sinda’s wrist, his fingers flinching as they dug into something wet and soft.

Thranduil gasped and his eyes rolled to the back of his head against the pain as Denisale stared at his fingers with a deftly concealed flash of horror. Blood trickled down both their hands, and Denisale noticed the blackened edges of the poisoned wound.

Jaen's poison.

Denisale marveled at how long the king was staying conscious as he did when he saw that Legolas had traveled all the way back to the stronghold on his own after being tainted with the new poison that was supposed to strike its target unconscious within minutes.

He wondered how his sabotage at the palace went and whether or not the poison he replaced with the fog orbs had taken effect. His suspicions were confirmed when he observed a small puff of the white powder cloud off Thranduil's cloak as the increasing wind toyed with it.

Denisale slowly unclenched the king’s wrist as Thranduil slid down the tree trunk, his eyes glazed over as he fell to his knees.

Denisale took a shocked step back as reason told him the poison was finally taking effect, but he was once again wrong.

As soon as Thranduil's knees made contact with the ground, all shows of weakness disappeared, and Denisale noticed too late. Thranduil moved forward and ducked under Denisale's anticipated thrust of his fist, their blades hissing as they changed position.

It was Denisale who was now backed against the tree. As he stood, Thranduil twisted his blade around Denisale's, forcing the latter to drop his weapon.

Before the sword was even lying in the dirt, Thranduil flicked his wrist and brought the hilt of his sword down on Denisale's temple, knocking him into blackness and the rogue collapsed with his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Panting, he turned back to the clearing and spotted Feren with—to his surprise— a shorter grey cloaked figure with the an _Imladris_ brooch fastening at his chest.

The stranger was standing protectively around Legolas' prone body and disabling the last of the dozen Edain soldiers that attacked them after Thranduil had engaged Denisale.

Thranduil ran forward and fell to his knees beside his son's unmoving body, noticing a new bloody-black cut in the crook of his shoulder. His mind flashed with the injured version of his much younger child on that black day, and he quickly willed it away.

He put his hand to Legolas' damp forehead and whispered a small flow of elvish words, enveloping the two in a soft white glow. Legolas’ body sagged more comfortably against his adar’s chest.

He held Legolas protectively and squeezed his eyes shut, sending a silent thanks to the Valar.

"Are you well?" Thranduil lifted his face to skim over Feren and the young man with concern. The boy bowed immediately in the elvish fashion.

Only then did he notice the boy's shoulder-length greasy dark hair, intelligent silver eyes, and the straight elvish blade sheathed at his side. Though he wore elvish garb, Thranduil could tell he was very much human.

"I am well, _aran_ _nin_, though I believe our young new ally has acquired a poisoned injury when he saved the prince’s life." Feren sounded almost surprised as if just noticing how close they came. The human's eyes widened at Feren's mention of the _ellyn's_ titles, and he bowed again deeply.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows and the boy smiled sheepishly, cowed by the king’s intimidating presence.

"For that I owe you my thanks. Please, return with us to the stronghold and have your injury tended. We must go with haste, for Legolas is in need of a healer."

"_Hannon_ _lle_. I accept your kind offer, _hir_ _nin_. My name is Estel Elrondion—" he hesitated as if wanting to say more, but inclined his head and stepped back.

_Elrondion_...

Thranduil rose with Legolas draped over his arms, staggering slightly under the new weight and swallowing several times to push back his heart in its attempt to jump into his throat.

He was sure he could feel his body shaking. Whether it was with the effects of the poison, exhaustion, or worn adrenaline, he did not know.

The Sinda felt, rather than saw, the human's silver eyes watching him with concern as he turned back to their horses.

Feren knew that Thranduil would refuse to let go of his son, but also knew that he was far too weak to carry on like this much longer. He debated with himself on what to do.

The human stepped forward with a bow to Thranduil who stood by his horse, biting his lip as he struggled to figure out how to mount with his injury and new burden.

"_Hir_ _nin_, I—I, I mean my father is Lord Elrond of _Imladris_, and has passed a bit of his knowledge in healing to me... " he started slowly, ducking his head uncomfortably when the king gave him a belittling look, "what I'm saying is—with all due respect—that attempting to ride alone in your current state, much less with a burden, would prove very unwise and further harm may come to you both as well as delay in returning to the stronghold. I suggest we pair up accordingly, there being only two horses."

The human fidgeted nervously after finishing, praying the King of Greenwood wouldn't be irked by his bold but concerned statement.

To his relief, the king only chuckled. This boy reminded him so much of Elrond and his dear Celeblessil when it came to matters concerning healing.

'_Ai! By the stars, Thranduil! Be still! Even Feren makes a more tolerable patient than you!' Her merry laugh echoed in his memory, the sound soothing like tinkling bells and the soft hum of a stream. 'I, however, can compensate for it, at least.' he said, placing a kiss on her dimpled features. 'Sneaky you are! That won't work with me, stubborn little elfling,' she scolded, but her eyes shone with warmth._

"Very well. I will admit, that is a wiser choice, though my pride protests mercilessly," he said, his eyes trailing off with a faraway look.

_'That pride of yours you treasure is going to come back and bite you one day,' Celeblessil always said. 'Maybe so, but I will not need it, for I have you to treasure,' he answered, his lips curling into a light grin. She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful whack upside the head. ‘You never did have a golden tongue.’ ‘No, that is something reserved for the Noldor,’ he replied, earning another clout. _

Feren shook his head with disbelief. _He must be delirious..._

He took Legolas' limp form from Thranduil and mounted up with with prince resting against his chest, his head lolling limply to the side. Estel helped Thranduil into the saddle behind him and they started off to the stronghold.

The short journey proved to be quiet and uneventful, and soon the southern orchard walls were spied in the distance.

They slipped quietly into the gate, handing the horses to concerned maidens who hovered about the orchard, collecting provisions to feed all the elves that now took shelter within the stronghold walls. Thranduil took Legolas in his arms once again, not being able to bear the separation between them any longer. The ugly chains were still fastened to his wrists and ankles. The Sinda made a note to himself to call in a smith immediately.

The small and weary party stepped into the palace and were immediately assaulted by the Healers Aldaner and Filendis.

"Why do I get the notion that this a familiar sight," sighed Aldaner in an exasperated tone.

After scrutinizing the party with a healer’s glare, she rushed forward with a small gasp, fingering the iron bonds and she turned her questioning eyes to Thranduil. To his gratefulness and relief, she did not ask any questions.

"_Aran_ _nin_! Come! The healing wing is full, so we may have to do with the your private quarters." Master Healer Filendis frowned when he noticed the young human trailing the king cautiously.

"_Hannon_ _lle_, that will do just fine. This is Estel Elrondion. His timely and unexpected appearance in the midst of our... conflict is the reason our dear prince yet lives." He added a warm smile to Estel for good measure that he hoped didn’t come off as sarcastic. "Feren, if you would please tend to our guest. And if you would, please send a smith up to my rooms immediately." He flashed Feren another patronizing smile and proceeded to the Royal chambers.

Thranduil gently laid his son down on the bed after a visit from the smith, helping the healers remove his old 'bandages', if that's what you'd call them, and torn and dirty clothes, frowning at the dark purple bruises that marred his fair skin in a particularly colorful stripe that fell diagonally across his chest and torso.

The fading cut on his arm was almost healed, but his leg was another matter. Though it appeared the wounds had fully closed at one point, the harsh treatment and scuffle in the glade had them torn open again and they were sluggishly bleeding.

After gently sponging him down and clothing him with fresh garments, the healers turned to inspect the strange poison that provoked the slice in Legolas’ shoulder.

"It's the same one," stated Filendis.

"Same as what?" Thranduil asked.

"The same poison that was smothered onto the arrow during the _Edain_ assault in Tedrin. We have already created and given him the antidote; he should wake soon."

"I see," said Thranduil, the relief evident in his voice. He watched Legolas' soft breathing from the opposite side of the bed with wrinkled brows. He blinked rapidly to clear the dreaded grey spots from his vision and rubbed his aching temples. His body nearly shook with exhaustion, but of course, he wasn’t about to tell anyone that. He could take care of himself.

The movement caught the professional eyes of Aldaner and she immediately spotted his bloody wrist. She strutted over to his side of the bed with purpose, her chin jutting out defiantly as she held out her hand.

"Give it to me," she demanded.

Thranduil looked up at her face, then at her upturned palm. She reminded him so much of Feren sometimes. Well, she was his mother after all.

He feigned surprise—something he was particularly good at.

"Excuse me?"

"Your hand."

He held out his left hand and she quickly slapped it away and gave him a withering look. He continued to look at her calmly, perfectly capturing the face of one who is genuinely confused.

She sighed and forcefully pushed him over on the bed and grabbed his injured arm. He no longer had to feign surprise. Thranduil tried to twist it out of her grasp but she held on with an iron grip and had already started inspecting it. She turned and subdued him with another look.

The Sinda cringed and lie still as she fussed over him, though he did not mind it much. Aldaner had become much like a mother to him during his residence in Greenwood.

All activity stopped when Legolas emitted a small groan through his parted lips and tossed his head to the side.

oOoOoOo


	11. Doubts

Chapter 11~ Doubts

Eyes still closed, the prince coiled into a tight ball on the bed and struck out blindly with his fists. The healers hurried forward.

Aldaner's jaw connected with a fist, throwing her back into a nearby rocking chair. Filendis' stomach was met with a swift kick and he crashed to the floor, dazed.

Legolas pulled open his eyelids and whipped his head around, the world lolling violently and up and down swapping places numerous times. His vision was so fuzzy and blurry, he was unable to see that he was safely inside his father's bedchamber. Ear splitting ringing in his ears did not let the voices of the others in the room penetrate to him.

He felt strong hands trying to pin down his arms above him and he thrashed even more wildly, the jerking movements worsening the ringing and nauseating rolling of the world.

Thranduil struggled with his oblivious son with increasing panic. Aldaner lay slumped in the rocking chair, her eyes closed. Filendis lay gasping on the floor, trying to save several shattered vials and potions he had been working on before he had crashed over the table, but in vain.

The Sinda tried hard not to touch Legolas' wounds on his arms, both new and old, as he dodged flying fists, and not wanting to disturb the raw skin on his wrists by grabbing them. He murmured a chant of soothing words.

"Legolas, _saes_! Its me! You're safe now; you're home! Lie still!"

Thranduil managed to pin down one of Legolas' surprisingly powerful arms above his head. The glazed blue eyes flashed around wildly and rolled back and forth from the back of his head as he began to hyperventilate in the mussed sheets as if in a fevered dream. Whatever that poison was, it was determined in keeping its weak victim in the haze of unconsciousness.

Legolas kicked out with his legs, Thranduil's soft murmuring and pleading having no effect on his son. He raised his voice and tried to straddle the _ellon's_ thrashing legs to prevent him tearing the stitches open.

Legolas was losing and he knew it. He didn't know where he was, and didn't recognize the soft mattress under him or the soft light streaming through the windows and balcony doors of his adar’s room.

Only that he was losing. And his _adar_ might be losing too.

The last thing he had remembered was the bright clash of steel and yells of pain mingling with agitated voices. He remembered the dark forms that advanced on him from all sides, their blades flashing in the sparse moonlight...

oOo

Hir nin... No! I need to get to him! They're going to kill him! Not my adar... Not him too—!

_He blocked the blades with his shackles, steel clanging on iron. He twisted the sword into the chain and pulled it out of his adversary's hands. And another and another._

_He was mildly aware that he was on the ground in the shadow of another ellon fighting beside him, trying desperately to keep the guards at bay. His chafed wrists burned with the effort and the constant and sudden contact rubbed his skin away._

_Another figure burst through the trees, tackling one of the foes to the ground, the hilt of his sword connecting with the adan’s head._

_A yell of pain erupted from behind him. He immediately knew who it belonged to._

No!!!

_He twisted around, trying desperately to see what had become of Thranduil._

No no no I'm so sorry, this is all my fault—

_His warrior senses suddenly screamed and something flickered in his peripheral vision. He turned in time to see a curved dagger flashing towards him, dripping with a foul-smelling substance._

_But it was not blood. He recognized the scent and tried desperately to roll away from the descending weapon._

_A hand reached out and jerked the blackened blade from its original path into his chest. The blade sliced into his shoulder, the wound bursting into a flurry of burning sparks that shot down his arm and spread out in his body._

_He heard a man emit a snarling retort and a small yelp as the blade sliced through his rescuer's hand._

_The rescuer delivered a swift clout to the man's jaw, the dark figure going limp on top of him as the new ally turned to face another foe. Legolas struggled under the weight of the limp body as the world descended into blackness._

Adar... don't leave me...

oOo

He lashed out with his unbound fist, a small flare of satisfaction rippling through him as it connected full-on with something soft. But the grip on his arm did not lessen, nor did his opponent falter in his struggle to pin down his other arm.

The sane part of his mind told him that if this opponent really wanted to kill him, why didn't he just run him through with a blade? He contentedly ignored that part of his mind as he continued to struggle, not daring to open his eyes for the tilting floor to make him sick.

The hand latched onto his forearm, but before it could maintain a solid grip, Legolas twisted his arm downwards and dug his nails as hard as he could into the adversary's wrist, surprised when the foe recoiled and let go of his other arm with a yell.

He froze. He knew that voice...

Legolas calmed his pounding heart and suddenly became aware of fiery pain that lanced up his leg and arm. The longer he kept still, the more the intense ringing in his ears lessened. His head ached fiercely; like a troll had used it as an anvil. In fact, his whole body ached, and he was grateful for the soft mattress beneath him.

_Mattress_... Yes, he was most definitely laying on a mattress.

He tried to pry open his eyes and immediately regretted it, for the light seemed to split into his head. The ringing faded until he was no longer incoherent.

Soft muttering flowed beside him, and he tried to discern their meaning, subconsciously flinching at the string of curses that he was sure would summon his mother back from Mandos in a most unpleasant mood and a rather severe scolding in store for the person in question.

His lips were parched and throat was hoarse, giving him difficulty to utter the next words;

"Wh-where am-m I? _Hir nin... ADAR!_"

Legolas was slightly taken aback when the cursing voice melted into one of the sweetest sounds he could ever hope to hear.

"_Im sí. Im sí, tithen Las_. You're home,” the voice breathed.

Strong arms enveloped him and he flung himself into them, pointedly ignoring the pain that flared with the movement. He was overjoyed to see Thranduil alive.

Memories caught up with him and he immediately broke away, his words tumbling out in a rush.

"_Hir_ _nin_ I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to— I—I should have—"

"_Daro_, Legolas! Do not allow the burden of false accusation upon your shoulders. I only wish I had been there to spare you of your pain, penneth."

Thranduil ran his thumb under Legolas' eye, cupping his chin in his hand, gently fingering the dark bruises that marred his fair face.

Legolas suddenly broke eye contact and ran his gaze over Thranduil's body, remembering his cry of pain his sharp and practiced eyes immediately spotting the bandages.

"_Hir_ _nin_ what happened!" he said, gently pulling at Thranduil's right forearm, examining the bloody bandages and four distinct, oval like indentations where the bandages were soaked with the most blood.

When he didn't respond, Legolas looked up at Thranduil, his brows furrowed in a frown.

"I did this," he stated flatly. Thranduil did remained unresponsive.

Legolas barely then noticed the room around him. A table was overturned at the foot of the bed, herbs and shattered vials and fragrant greenish juices and ointments littered the ground around it.

Master Healer Filendis gently dabbed an unconscious Aldaner's faintly bruised jaw, clutching his middle with his other arm. Legolas turned his horrified gaze to his father.

Thranduil couldn't help a chuckle escape his throat at his son's expression. He smiled wryly.

"I suggest you heal that leg of your as quickly as possible, preferably before Healer Aldaner wakes; I fear your life if she finds you here..."

"Nay, she may yet spare me if I stay in bed; you know how healers are about staying in bed."

"Quite true. Though I doubt you will follow your advice just as much as I will,” he finished with a sardonic quirk.

Filendis used this moment to turn back around and settle a glare on the two _ellyn_.

“I suggest you heed a healer's advise; Aldaner is not known to make idle threats," he said with a pointed look at Thranduil.

Thranduil huffed fondly in mock-exasperation.

“Don’t I know it.”

The inklings of a smile played on the corners of Legolas’ mouth, but then he sobered, suddenly turning serious.

"Denisale...they have more _Edain_ mercenaries. Reinforcements...lots." The prince sat up straighter, brow furrowed. "He said they attacked the stronghold... how is everything?"

Thranduil frowned slightly at his usually eloquent son's halting speech, but responded;

“I am afraid not very well. We were sabotaged and all our bows proved useless. It was difficult to tell the winning side when I left Tauriel as captain..." he paused with a small intake of breath, realizing he had no idea how the battle was going. "Jaseric... has left these shores."

Legolas' eyes swam with sorrow as he looked down at his hands. It's all my fault... The hand on his shoulder that slid away after a moment.

"_Losto_ _mae_, Legolas. I must attend to our people. I will return after you have had some rest," he said, wincing as Filendis changed the bloodied bandage on his wrist.

Pulling on his outer garb and strapping on his belt, the Sinda whooshed out of the chamber, his deep green cape trailing his broad shoulders and twin swords bouncing on his hips.

oOo

Legolas watched the doorway as the soft footsteps of his adar faded down the hallway.

His thoughts turned to Jaseric. Though they had not been very close, they had often trained and went on hunting parties and patrols together.

They had a special bond along with his sister, Tauriel, after they had been found in the decimated remains of a downed talan, clinging to each other and shivering in their torn and dirty clothes, tears making small tracks on their sooty faces as they stared in horror at the bloodied bodies of their deceased parents.

The elflings has been taken in after that, for the two elflings would refuse to be held by anyone other than Thranduil. Tauriel was like a little sister to Legolas, and he knew it would be him to comfort her in her terrible grief.

The prince felt slightly reassured that, though the _elleth_ had lost all her blood relations, she still had him and his father as a shoulder to cry on.

Though Thranduil didn't show it, he cared for the two now-grown elves, and the passing and grief they now had to experience pulled at his heartstrings.

Little did they l know that the feeling was not mutual.

Legolas sighed and dropped his head to his hands again. He feared the relationship between him and Thranduil would worsen.

_I cannot blame him...the one time I am needed here I skip off to sojourn in the dark forest. Oh naneth, teach me how to reign in this wild súlë of mine. Adar does not understand. I am being crushed..._

_How did you deal with this burden; duty? Were you tamed by it? Like a light snuffed out? Or did you pay it little mind and worry of the technicalities later?_

_Naneth, naneth, naneth, oh I beg you show me. I am snuffed out; and it is crushing me. _

_Duty will never evade me... nor can I evade it; if these are the consequences._

The golden ellon watched as Healer Filendis approached him with a goblet in his hands, his soft brown eyes offering comfort and reassurance. Legolas looked away. _How can they still bear me so? _He did not understand. _I do not deserve these people..._

The cool rim of the cup tipped against his lips, and he listlessly let the smooth liquid slide down his throat. Sleep overtook him as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Filendis observed Legolas, concern written on his furrowed brows. The young Sinda has always been somewhat of a spitfire and had never _not_ protested against taking a sleeping draught or any other potion for that matter. Something was very wrong. The healer hated to pile something else onto the already towering load on the king’s shoulders, but knew it was better that he knew everything, especially since this had to do with his son. His only son at that.

They could overlook nothing in times like these.

oOo

Thranduil threw a quick glance over his shoulder as soon as he was sure he was out of sight to the elves in his bedchamber. He bit his lip and fumbled with the golden clasps on his shoulders with nimble, leather-gloved fingers. His mind raced with a million questions and he felt like smacking his forehead.

He always tried so hard to fill his father's shoes. It amazed him how Oropher had managed to keep a thriving kingdom and play his role as father. Or did Oropher make a good father? If he did, why did Thranduil feel like he was failing so badly? His kingdom was crumbling through his fingers and trying to develop a good relationship with his son felt like trying to catch a handful of smoke.

He sighed and dwelled on his thoughts as he listened to his faint uneven footfalls in the hollow halls.

Haldaner, one of his Generals, approached him in the hallway with a bow as best he could with his left arm in a sling.

“_Aran_ _nin_! It relieves me to see that you have returned safely. How do you fare? And the _ernil_?"

Thranduil replied as he normally would, his train of thought appearing nowhere in his stone mask. He offered the _ellon_ a polite, stoic nod.

"_Hannon_ _lle_, General. I fare well. Legolas is injured, but not too seriously, he will be back in full health in a few day's time. Do you have word of how the battle goes?"

"Thank the Valar you and the prince fare well,” he said in accompaniment to a kind smile. “The _Edain_ have fled back into the forest and have our stronghold surrounded.

“All that is left of our forces have retreated inside the stronghold under Captain Tauriel's command. Healers are tending to the wounded.” A small pause.

“I am afraid the captain is not taking the death of Commander Jaseric very well; her grief is great, as is ours. She resides in a guest chamber nearest the right wing of the healing ward. I believe you may wish to have a word with her."

_All that is left of our forces..._ Thranduil swallowed at the statement and resisted the urge to bite his lip.

He would've done the same thing in Tauriel's place and was proud of her for making the wise decision of preventing any more deaths in a battle they would not win, especially with Legolas' word of the _Edain_ having many reinforcements. Even elves had their limits.

But now their condition was clear: the palace was under siege.

"_Hannon_ _lle_, General, I will see Tauriel now," he hesitated slightly before taking a step. "Take care of yourself, Haldaner."

Haldaner bowed deeply, his heart warming. He was loyal to Thranduil, and greatly admired the _ellon_. Though he may seem cold or rough on the edges, the General was proud of their king despite popular opinion. The nation was as intact as it could be and he knew that everyone made mistakes... even kings.

He watched as the Sinda retreated down the hallway and saluted to the departing _ellon’s_ back with gentle gestures, a thoughtful look on his face.

_This is one I will follow to the end._

oOo

Thranduil pressed his hand over his heart as he carried his regal form to the right healing wing. Few dared look at him with such compassion.

_I do not deserve these people..._

oOoOoOo

**A**/**N**: Dx I know, these like, last seven chapters really needed to be gutted and maybe one day I will find the nerve to do so... For now, all I will say is that this is what we’re here for! Right..? “:3

Thoughts?

Losto mae... sleep well


	12. Tainted

Chapter 12~ Tainted

Estel awoke with a start upon the loud crash filled with the shattering of glass and followed by a raised voice. He cringed as the voice got louder and louder and died out with a cry of pain. He wondered what was going on in the other room but dared not look.

He had been lucky so far, and the last thing he wanted was to face the wrath of the Elvenking. Though the ellon had proved to be not all that bad, his regal manner was intimidating and his eyes were extremely unsettling, even if he was smiling; which was a pleasant thing to see on his handsome face, though he could tell even such an expression was rare, for it looked considerably misplaced.

Estel ran his fingers through his still-damp hair with his bandaged hand and pulled his legs from under the sheets, sliding his boots on.

He had taken a much-needed bath when he had gotten to his chamber, and the new typical green and brown mottled garments proved to be very comfortable.

After being tended to by healers and devouring a hearty meal, Aragorn slipped out of his room to explore about. He preferred the term '_see how he could help_', but he had to admit he was curious about the happenings of the Woodland Realm.

Even with having Lord Elrond as a father, he still did not know anything much about the Realm or any of its people for that matter. Though the Mirkwood elves who had tended to him were not cold, they were not overly friendly either; something to be expected considering he was a complete stranger. And a human. Of what he did hear of King Thranduil, was that he did not take very kindly to any other races.

Estel took a quick look in the mirror and shrugged at his reflection. Maybe he could reverse their prejudice towards Men.

He leaned out of the door and hesitantly looked both ways down the small hallway before stepping out.

Several _ellyth_ and healers that were carrying baskets with an assortment of herbs, bandages, blankets, and food were rushing down the hall to a seemingly similar destination. He shrugged again and followed the rushing ellyth, his thoughts on the golden-haired elf whose life he had saved.

He was somewhat worried for the young prince.

Even having seen only glimpses of him during the fight, Aragorn could tell he was a beyond exceptional fighter, even weaponless, though he had been visibly suffering from rather severe exhaustion and mistreatment.

_Maybe I can see how he fares.._. He doubted it though; the Mirkwood elves seemed very protective over the royal family (at least the ones who did not scowl at the mention of them); of most things for that matter.

Following down the winding passages—heavily adorned with tapestries and ordinate carvings of woodland flora and fauna and series of closed oaken doors—Aragorn encountered an intersection where two hallways met at an angle, forming a large room in the center that was topped with polished double doors.

He peeked inside and was surprised by the sheer size of the ward; it was as large as the _Imladris_ main ward.

Rows of beds shielded by curtains filled the room, all of the beds occupied by bloody bodies of sleeping or writhing elves, some moans accompanied by the soft chanting of healers and comforting words of _ellyth_.

Aragorn was shocked at the devastation; almost every single bed was filled.

He watched dumbstruck as a healer turned his tearful eyes to a small group of about four elves in one of the corners of the room, and nodded softly, covering the elf's face whom he was tending with a sheet. The elves surrounded the bed and hummed a mournful lament, while setting the body upon a stretcher and carrying the recent corpse out of the room.

Aragorn swallowed down the lump that had appeared in his throat. _Immortals are not made to perish so..._

His attention was suddenly diverted as he heard the yelling of ellyth and the soft pattering of several elves running. He rushed to the door way in time to see Thranduil latch onto a runaway elfling's forearm. The child struggled against his grip.

"_Ada_! Let me see my _ada_! Where is he? Let me go!" the little elfling cried.

Thranduil reached down and scooped the elfling in his arms, suddenly taken aback as he nestled his face in the crook of his neck and began to sob. He held the child stiffly, but eventually melted into the little one's embrace, murmuring words of comfort only loud enough for the elfling to hear. The child calmed noticeably, clutching a fistful of the Elvenking's silver hair in his small hand.

A flustered elleth whose nut-brown hair had escaped some of her braids limped into sight, carrying an infant. She gasped and bowed immediately to her king while trying to catch her breath.

"_Aran_ _nin_! _Goheno_ _nin_, _hir_ _nin_; he is swift on his feet and fled the room the second I wasn't looking—"

"_Sidh_, dear one. I will not deny the child a comfort." Thranduil turned back to whisper in the elfling's ear, the small brown head bobbing in consent as he was put on the floor.

The Elvenking's eyes followed as the elfling clung to his mother's skirt as she bowed and led him away.

His eyes reflected a knowing softness, but his brow was twisted in grief, and the deep pools reflected a deep-seated sorrow.

"Be sure to update the young one on his father's condition,” he told someone Estel could not see.

Master Healer Filendis emerged from behind the Elvenking into Aragorn’s sight. They made their way through the beds, towards another Healer in charge.

Estel watched, entranced, as the Healer pressed athelas that had been seeped in boiling water onto a nasty hole in a patient's torso.

The healer closed his eyes, unnatural purple circles deepening in the hollows of his eye sockets as he chanted softly while rocking back and forth; resorting to magic—alternately called leashing their Light— when herbs alone did not do justice for the severity of the wound.

The patient groaned softly, the fair speech infused with light arousing him from the oblivion.

The healer's chanting quickened as his hands began to shake and his forehead dampened with perspiration. Both healer and patient's breathing quickened as the healer poured the last of his energy into the process.

The healer felt as if his insides were crumbling and like he was about to collapse in on himself, when suddenly warm hands covered his own and a fierce heat rushed into them.

Not heat that burned, mind you, but was pleasant like the touch of a toasty blanket that had been sitting by the fire.

The heat spread through and under his hands into the arrow wound that had been the vortex of his energy’s focus. Soft chanting filled his ears and he immediately felt like he was sinking in a warm pond, but there was air all about him, having no scent, and yet the feeling of it entering his lungs was like a soothing balm to his weariness.

The healer clung to the soft words that doused him in comfort and he marveled at the power that surged behind it, like a stone dam holding back rushing waters as they tossed and pushed about, looking for a chance to seep through a crack.

Slowly, the music faded and the healing warmth cooled on his much-steadier hands. He reluctantly opened his eyes as he felt the hands prying his stiff and cramped fingers from the wound in his patient.

He was surprised to be met with a sparkling sheet of white-gold. Blue eyes stared into his with a measure of gentleness and the healer let his knees sink to the ground, the strong hands wrapping around his shoulders as he could stay in the land of the waking no longer.

Aragorn watched as Filendis knelt beside Thranduil after taking a look at the elf with the torso wound, satisfied that he would live.

"He's exhausted," said Filendis, noticing as the Elvenking's eyes sparkled with confusion and concern when he caught the healer from an undignified sprawl. "A healer only has so much energy to use on forcing out his Light before it proves too much."

He paused as he scanned the elves in the beds around the room. The healers looked just as tired as the one in Thranduil's arms as they stood over the beds, their assistants buzzing about the tables to collect herbs and poultices.

"I'm afraid we will need much more magic; many of these may have only hours before they enter the Halls." Filendis sighed grimly. "Healing takes energy; energy takes time. Time we do not have."

"Then it is well we came when we did. I have much energy to spare and my Light is enhanced." Thranduil stood, handing over the limp healer in his arms to be carried to a bedchamber.

Filendis stared at the king in wonder and many weary heads turned toward him with a spark surprise, but Thranduil paid no mind. He was already leaning over another injured as the warm light enveloped them both once again; his lips moving but with hardly a sound to be heard; his lashes hovering over his cheeks as he tightly pressed his eyes closed once again in concentration.

An _elleth_ suddenly bumped into Estel, disturbing his curious vigil near the doorway. He quickly moved out of the way, flustered.

"Ah, _goheno_ _nin_," he stuttered as the elleth locked her gaze with his, her squinting eyes sizing him up.

"May I ask what business you have here, young man?"

"I—I have some knowledge in healing...from Lord Elrond. I thought I could help," the name seemed to gain some respect around here so he thought now was a good time to use it to his advantage.

The _elleth's_ gaze was rather unsettling but it not cause chills to skitter up and down his spine like the gaze of the king. The thought of Thranduil encouraged his vow to himself of staying on his good side; he was sure one angry look from the Elvenking could melt him into a pile of bones.

She raised an elegant eyebrow. "I see. Then I suggest you help out with the smaller casualties in the main healing ward, for there is very little that you can to do help these. The severely wounded need an additional share of Light to survive," she motioned to the ward to which doorway they were standing in with a grim, weary look.

Estel's eyes bulged despite his effort to kill the reaction. The thoughts: ‘_This is only the severely wounded?’_ and ‘_This isn't the main ward?_’ rushed into his head almost simultaneously.

When he did not move, Aldaner pointed in the direction of the right hallway.

"Down that way, Master Human."

Aragorn quickly shook out of his stupor and looked back into the ward one last time to catch a glimpse of the elleth, Aldaner, as she waited patiently behind as the healing glow died around Thranduil and the new elf he was tending to. He stood up straight and almost visibly winced when he saw the old healer glowering over him.

Estel shook his head and turned on his heel and followed the hallway to the main ward.

_I will never understand these people..._

He caught snatches of conversation from the two healers and the king that floated down the hallway to his ears.

"—you to rest—not make idle threats."

"You cannot—angry—me, Aldaner—Legolas?"

"—fine physically—eyes dull—no attempt to move—worried about him. Want—alone— let—be."

Aragorn suddenly turned on his heel, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer and gave a certain prince a visit. He was sure this would be his only chance.

oOo

_Weeks earlier, north of Mirkwood in the Grey Mountains..._

Ausocitin surveyed the scene before him, the chilly breeze ruffling his dark hooded cloak, hands on his hips and one leg cocked.

A grey, rocky expanse laid out before him, the craggy peaks smothered in a pitch black soot. Idle grey dust mingled with clouds of the ash as they whirled and were spread across the landscape.

The place felt... wrong...evil. But not an active evil. A more remote, faded evil, the eerie expanse of rocky protrusions and smooth cliffs— devoid of all life—promoted the uneasy feeling. Not a creature peeped and nothing was seen or heard scuttling across the rocks. No plants were anywhere in sight. Just rock, ash, and dust.

Ausocitin pulled a deep green leather bound journal from the inside of his vest.

Faded golf leaf decorated the cover of the book fashioned in a familiar crest of leaves intertwined with woodland flowers. The outline of a stag was nestled in the center, his elegant head adorned with elaborate antlers. The creature stood proudly, alert, portraying a noble creature indeed.

The ellon leafed through the dated pages; all scrawled in neat Tengwar.

He turned to a certain page, pulling a loose and slightly faded piece of parchment from between the leaves of the pages. The feel of it was slightly soft and creases deep from being handled.

Carefully unfolding it, he intently reread the description of a location near him and studied the map for a minute before following a certain path to where there was a red circle scrawled onto the map.

He turned around a right bend, blocked by a smooth, black-stained protrusion of rock and he was slightly taken aback by the fresh wave of evil he was met with along with a fresh, biting wind that rushed into his face, blowing the cowl off his head.

Ausocitin looked back at the description then quickly stowed the paper into the journal and tied the front and back covers together with a length of twine, making care not to further bend the corners of the bindings when he tucked the booklet into his vest.

His sharp eyes pierced the land around him, an involuntary shiver running through his body when he caught the sight of a gaping hole in the mountainside, nothing visible through the almost tangible, thick darkness in the large cave.

Thick smoke wafted lazily through the opening. He willed himself to hurry and finish his business and scurried away from the imposing mouth of the hole. The creeping feeling of eyes on his back he pointedly ignored.

He had gone in there before and knew that he did not wish to repeat the experience. But it had been necessary. He needed certain... resources from there to sufficiently fill up his mercenaries’ stores.

The weapon was effective and dauntingly lethal so that even Ausocitin was wary of it. 

Well, he called them mercenaries as he was paying them each a sum to participate, but they had minds of their own. Their eyes had been easily opened by the destruction on Dale and Erebor as had his. Like Ausocitin, they knew that a king who overlooked any attempt to try to stop such devastation was not meant to be king at all. They were only helping him give Thranduil a nudge off the throne.

The _ellon’s gaze roamed over the dusty clearing.  
_

Stepping lightly over some of the sharp protrusions of rock with their roots buried in the stone ground carpeted in the mixture of dust and ash, he picked his way towards the right side of the mouth of the cave, an area that was pitch black and extremely thick with ash.

His heart rate sped up excitedly despite his surroundings and he bent down and picked up a small, oddly-shaped object that was covered in grime and appeared to be a fragment of broken armor at first glance.

He quickly blew off some of the grime, the dust billowing away from his breath in a filthy cloud. When that did not do the trick, he quickly unclasped his leather water skin from his belt and popped the lid off with his teeth, pouring the water over the ring-shaped object in his fingers, which, turns out, was, in fact, a ring.

The delicate silver band met in a skillfully silver-wrought crest of leaves and woodland flowers that circled around a brilliant emerald, its shimmering beauty contrasting harshly with its bleak surroundings.

Slender silver coils resembling vines crept along the edges of the jewel, setting the emerald into the crest of leaves more firmly.

The ex-advisor held the intricate piece up to the waning light in the grey sky, the silver reflecting an almost golden reddish sheen. He then realized that the silver was not silver at all, but mithril.

He smiled to himself as his eyes lingered on the jewelry for a bit longer, the pads of his fingertips tracing possessively over the glowing stone.

The circular crest of leaves on the ring was identical to the insignia on the green leather journal in his breast-pocket but for the stag in the center.

He closed his fist around the small object that he was sure would play a large part in his mutiny.

He heard the volume of feet crunching on the gravel rise behind him and turned to meet another shorter, green cloaked figure, the dark cowl concealing the figure's face. The figure stopped and bowed stiffly before him, a feminine voice rising from the concealed face.

"Did you find it?" she asked crisply.

A pleased smile crossed his face as he triumphantly held up his open empty palm. She hesitantly placed her hand, palm-up, on top of his and he set the ring in it, clasping her fist in his and giving it a sincere shake.

"Keep it safe. You know what to do."

She nodded curtly and turned away to be met with the chill breeze that thrust her hood back, exposing her full head of red hair, youthful eyes glimmering with delight as she stared at the jewel in her hand.

She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her very human ear absentmindedly as she closed her fist around the ring once more, a small smile gracing her delicate lips.

She was getting paid double for this, and that was truly saying something.

oOo

Ausocitin disappeared behind the bend, eager to leave this desolated graveyard of evil behind.

What a nice surprise he had in store for his king.

He only wished he would be there when the Thranduil found out that what was a priceless gift thought to be out of existence, was a part of his downfall. Well, if it worked, he wouldn’t even know it was his downfall.

Perhaps Ausocitin would be there to witness how it slowly destroyed his _súlë_ a bit later, when the destruction began.

For Ausocitin alone knew the seemingly lost lesser ring of power that was connected to the harmony of the Greenwood itself,

was tainted.

oOoOoOo


	13. New Relations

Chapter 13~ New Relations

Aldaner sighed for the umpteenth time that morning upon the shrill shatter of glass followed by hurried apologies.

She turned her withering glare to the dark-haired human staring dully at the broken vial at his feet, the reddish liquid pooling around his boots.

The patient to whom she was tending pressed his lips in a tight line to conceal a chuckle at the healer’s scowl. Aldaner glared at him and he ducked his head, having the grace to look ashamed of himself.

"It is mad to laugh when there is no reason for mirth," she declared tartly.

The patient, a slim _ellon_, nodded sincerely and winced as she pushed the needle back into his skin to stitch up the nasty hole in his bicep where a sword had pierced through.

Aldaner watched with quiet, growing disdain as the clumsy human fumbled to pick up the glass on the floor and ended up getting a piece in his finger. He quickly concealed it and looked up sharply when someone called for him to fetch them a certain herb. He ambled over to the table where potions and herbs were stored and looked from one herb to another, obviously having no idea what he was doing.

He bit his lip and picked one up, handing it to the healer who shook her head wearily, pointing to a certain spot on the table and sending him back.

An _ellon_ sat down on the bed next to Aldaner, handing her a roll of bandages as she finished the last stitch. She gave him a silent nod of thanks and opened a small jar of white paste.

"Taught under Lord Elrond, eh?" the _ellon_ said, directing the question at Aldaner.

Lord Elrond was respected for his talent and extensive knowledge in the healing arts and a few of the Greenwood Master Healers had been taught by him.

She scoffed lightly.

"An elfling having seen only fifty summers could do better. I'm about to tell him to get out. But I suppose we can't be too hard on young one," she continued, a thoughtful look dawning on her face. "He was injured while saving the prince's life. Made quite a timely rescue and jumped into whatever violence was happening while the king was out in the forest earlier. Just a cut across his palm, Filendis told me, he'll be healed soon enough."

It suddenly struck Aldaner. This boy had no cut across his palm. They were not the same person. She would tell the king immediately.

"Ahh. So... what did happen while the king was out? I heard something happened to the prince. What do you know Aldaner?"

Aldaner turned to look at the ellon, her brows furrowed. She was surprised by his lack of concern and didn't like his tone; it was accusing and calculated.

"Nothing more than the rumors going around," she said carefully, beginning to wrap her patient’s arm with a bandage.

They both knew that wasn't true.

"Oh. I was merely worried."

They both knew he was lying.

His tone bouncing into cheerfulness that was evidently fake. "Well, I better be off."

Aldaner watched his retreating back with an odd expression.

_Be careful Thranduil... Not all loyalties lie with you._

oOo

Estel stared at the door to the prince's bedchamber, in conflict with himself.

His kind healer’s heart had led him as far as this spot, and only his curiosity could beckon him further. He truly did not know why he insisted seeing the prince in person when he could easily ask for the Master healer and get a fill-in on the _ellon’s_ condition.

There was always the possibility that the prince was as cold as his father and would summon a guard and have him arrested with mere snap of his fingers. Not even mentioning what the king would think about a human skulking around his injured son.

But there was no challenge in turning back now, and silly as it sounded, Estel wanted at least a _bit_ of a stir, though he preferred to call it an adventure.

He took a deep breath and reached for the door handle, hating how his fingers trembled the slightest bit. He summed up the rest of his courage and slowly stepped into the bedchamber.

The room was dim; all the windows were curtained and small streams of light streaked through the small balcony doors' windows'. There was a bookshelf on one wall, some of the shelves being lined with books, but most of them displaying odd knickknacks like pinecones, broken stones and jewels, several horseshoes and knives, and a set of antlers.

On one of the shelves sat a special arrow rack with three ornate, delicately crafted arrows set into it. Each had a ribbon tied to the tip for display and names fashioned into the wood. A small elfling's bow was propped in the other corner of the same shelf; probably the Prince's first bow. Another cubby bore several velvet pillows sitting on tiers of different heights with an assortment of circlets and diadems resting in the cushions. Those were considerably dustier than the other shelves.

An oaken desk sat against another wall with a matching chair and inkwell coupled with several gold-tipped fountain pens sat neatly in a line next to it.

Estel was sure there were observations that could be made on the ellon’s personality from the state of his room but he was still rather young and had no idea what to make of it all. So he followed his curiosity.

His attention was caught by the beautiful unstrung bow mounted on the wall near the head of the bed alongside a leather quiver full of perfect arrows. A set of pegs in the wall propped up a long elvish sword that curved into a leaf shape at the tip. The name of that style of blade had fled his mind at the moment.

Estel noticed but paid thought nothing of the empty sheaths for a set of twin blades hanging near the sword.

A canopy hung over the large bed, its curtains drawn back to expose mussed white sheets; seemingly the only thing in the room that was mildly messy.

But the bed was empty when it should have been occupied.

His brow twisted in confusion and a part of him was relieved; it meant he could leave.

Estel turned to the closed door. Before his mind could even register the fact that he had left the door open after he had come in, there were strong hands gripping his shoulders. He was twisted around and his back slammed into the wall, breath rushing out of his lungs as bright stars flashed across his vision.

His eyes that he hadn't realized he had pressed closed flew open upon the gentle nip of a blade at his throat. Estel was met with startling, intense blue eyes and a fair-featured face contorted in a fierce scowl.

"You better have a good explanation for being in the Royal quarters _**adan**_, or you will regret it," the elf snarled. Estel instantly recognized him as the prince.

Had it been a different situation, Estel would have laughed. He was so terrified he almost did. His knees had been reduced to the consistency of his mother’s raspberry preserves.

The prince’s golden mussed hair hung in tangles about a dark bruise on the side of his face. His forest green shirt hung open and had slipped off one of his shoulders, exposing more dark bruises blotches across his middle and a bandage. He wore matching bedraggled brown leggings that reached to his ankles and looked quite odd with his bare feet.

Aragorn bit his lip and made an undignified sound in his throat in attempt to choke down a chuckle.

"I assure you, _adan_, this is no laughing matter—" he was suddenly interrupted as Aragorn wrenched the extra blade from his lax hand and twisted out of his grip in one smooth move.

Legolas couldn’t decide whether to be surprised, irked, or impressed at the _adan’s_ boldness, so he felt all three at once.

Apparently the combination of expressions looked silly on his face, because the _adan_ sunk to his knees as if they could no longer support him and burst out laughing.

Legolas shared a look that clearly read '_what is this lunatic doing in my room?_' with an invisible person at the door, which only made Estel laugh harder.

_This is certainly irritating_, Legolas decided. His leg was burning from use and he ached in general, without keeping his defensive posture.

Assuming that the _adan_ would not be much of a threat, Legolas was about to choose what to do with him—something amusing, most likely—before his muse was interrupted when the _adan_ began to speak;

"I-I'm sorry *chuckle* you should *chuckle* should—" he sobered immediately as the elf met his gaze with his arms crossed over his half-bare chest, fingers drumming dangerously and brows raised in expectancy.

"I was just so startled when you grabbed me and then—and then you gave me that _look_ that—that would've been rather terrifying if you didn't look—," he paused his staggering explanation that had been repeatedly interrupted by his lingering mirth, as he groped for the appropriate word, "—like that."

Legolas kept his expression and tilted his head to the side.

“I see.”

A few uncomfortable beats of silence passe; they were meant to be unsettling for Estel, anyways.

“Well perhaps we should relay introductions before you get some silly idea and arrest me, though I already know who you are so that only leaves me,” the _adan_ took an exaggerated breath from his ramble and touched his hand to his chest in greeting, “Estel Elrondion. How do you do?”

“_Elrondion_?”

“Yes...”

“But you’re an _adan_; human. I do not how it all works with you Peredhil, but I do not remember word of Lord Elrond having another son...”

Estel pursed his lips and pretended he didn’t hear the little insecurity tapping at the back of his head. It was a question he had asked himself a hundred times over. Did he really belong?

“Well I’m not his blood son, obviously,” Estel said dryly, gesturing to his broad frame.

Legolas sighed and limped to the bed, plopping himself against the headboard with his head tilted back against the polished wood.

"Perhaps you could try knocking next time," he said tiredly. Estel almost visibly brightened. This was going well.

His healer’s instincts poked at him and he studied the ellon, coming to the conclusion that he was having a considerably massive headache from the tightness in his jaw.

“You have a headache.” Aragorn was almost surprised by his own abruptness and perked up when Legolas cracked his eyes open to glare at him.

"That's besides the point, _adan_. Now tell me, why have you come? You must have gone through a load of trouble coming here unseen, for I know no one would allow you in here."

"Yes, I did, since you brought it up, which is why I didn't knock," Estel emphasized the last word with a look, as he instinctively went to the nightstand to mix up a draught for the prince’s headache. "It was quite odd, actually. I had a strong urge to meet you. It was almost like something inside my head was telling me to do it and I found my feet obeying. I think it's what people call 'Fate'."

"Well for that, I will admit, I am most grateful. I'm certain I would have faded from excessive boredom. I believe I censused the stars 30 times over now." Legolas motioned to the underside of the canopy above his bed that was fashioned in a resemblance of the night sky. "There's 273 of them," he said very matter-of-factly.

Aragorn smiled wryly as he handed over the draught. Legolas sniffed it cautiously and studied him with narrowed eyes.

“I assure you that it is not drugged or poisoned.”

Legolas continued to scrutinize him. “Just what an _adan_ would say...”

Estel threw up his hands and bounced next to him onto the bed.

“I wish you no harm!”

“Then take a drink!” The elf shoved the goblet into the _adan’s_ hands.

Aragorn looked defeated. “No...”

“Why not?”

The drink was not at all spiked— merely... _disgusting_.

“Because!”

“_Valar_, why am I even arguing with this adan? _Feren_!” he shouted, causing Estel to flinch with bulged eyes.

He made frantic gestures with his hands for the elf to keep the volume down. “_Shhhh_!”

Legolas looked far too amused with himself. Aragorn marveled at his sanity, for he did not know who Estel was, and could very well be playing with an assassin.

“Than take—a—drink!” he growled with a feral smile, pushing the goblet into Estel’s hands again. Had it not been for the _adan’s_ kind healer’s heart or the glaze of pain to the prince’s eyes he would have sprinted out of the room altogether.

Reluctantly, Aragorn brought the cup to his lips and swallowed a sizable gulp before he could change his mind, giving Legolas a heated glare over the rim of the goblet before his face contorted into a fierce grimace.

It was Legolas’ turn to laugh and that he did, bracing his arm against his middle.

Estel glowered at him and licked his lips. “Satisfied?”

The elf’s eyes gleamed with amusement similar to that of a cat batting with a mouse.

“Well then now we can safely assume that you are not an assassin.” The elf lifted the cup in a silent toast and downed it in one gulp, making Estel inwardly grimace and wonder if taking foul draughts was accustomed to him.

Or perhaps the Dorwinion had dulled his sense of taste.

“I can assure you that I am no foe of yours,” the _adan_ said guardedly as the prince took up a blade and occupied himself with twirling it between his fingers. Estel decided that he enjoyed playing with dangerous things.

Legolas did not look up from his dancing fingers and raised his brows. “Oh?”

“It would make no sense to save your life just to kill you, you know.”

At this, the elf sharply looked up at him, his demeanor solemn for once, and gave him a low, respectful nod. It had all come rushing back at once. This was the odd figure that had spared him a knife to the heart.

“For that I am doubly grateful.”

Estel smiled and they sat in silence, Legolas looking to the balcony doors with longing, a thoughtful look on his face.

The elf suddenly spoke. "Thank you."

Estel smirked, seeing his chance to open a round of playful banter. "For the spectacular service, _your highness_, or that I tackled a few of my own kind for you?"

But the Legolas did not pick up on the wit-game and the brooding look on his face transformed into a pleasant smile as he turned his brilliant eyes to Aragorn's silver.

"For everything,” he said lightly, giving Estel a fond side glance before turning back to the glittering foliage trapped out by the tempered glass.

Aragorn ducked over a smug grin, knowing exactly what the ellon was thinking. He was not classified as a wood-elf for naught, after all.

Estel lightly slapped the elf's good thigh. "All in time, all in time."

Legolas sighed. "I know, I know. I can endure a limp or a twinge of pain, but the mere thought of angering the healers makes me quake. All that moving about tore my stitches; I am sure they will positively _kill_ me when they return.”

"Or kill _me_ for making you move."

"Good idea! I'll blame it on you,” he said with an air of finalization, again looking far too satisfied with himself.

Aragorn returned the jest with push to Legolas' good shoulder, toppling him over. They both erupted into laughter.

Estel suddenly sobered. "What are the chances of your father coming in here?”

Legolas seemed uncomfortable with this new subject and fidgeted uncharacteristically.

“Very low. We hardly ever converse unless it’s official business.”

Estel scrutinized the prince’s face who looked away uncomfortably. There was something not right here.

“Why do you wish to know?” the elf interrupted before Estel could question him further.

Estel shrugged half-heartedly and fiddled with the sheets. “He scares me.”

Legolas raised his brows again and Estel found it irritating at how often he used this expression. It was belittling.

“He _scares_ you?” the elf said as if it were something to laugh about.

Estel shot him a glare. “More like, he terrifies me.”

Legolas laughed in an exaggerating manner, making Estel feel uncomfortable. The aura around this elf screamed ‘danger’.

It was enticing.

“_Why_?” he asked, strained chuckles still escaping his throat as his arm curled around his middle again.

Estel turned to give him a look that clearly questioned his sanity.

“What do you mean, ‘_why_?’ He—“

Their talk stopped abruptly as a knock sounded on the door and a familiar masculine voice rang from the other side of the wood.

"May I come in, Legolas?"

Aragorn froze.

King Thranduil.

oOoOoOo

**A**/**N**: I by no means think this is how they met but hey; AU. :P


	14. Anger by Grief

Chapter 14~ Anger by Grief

Thranduil knocked tentatively on the door, frowning deeply when no response came from inside the guest chamber. Dorthion shared an anxious look with the king, his vibrant eyes deepening with distress.

He had tried to comfort her but she had pushed him away. It hurt a bit but he knew he would keep coming back to her. Perhaps Thranduil could settle things a bit for her.

"She has been with the children all day, aiding in the search for their parents if they ... survived. Healer Aldaner finally ordered her to take a rest, but she would go no further from the children than this room," he said in a low voice.

Thranduil nodded solemnly. "_Hannon_ _lle_, Dorthion. You may leave us now."

Dorthion bowed after a slight hesitation and disappeared down the hallway.

With a pained heart, Thranduil opened the door a crack and slid inside, clicking it shut behind him. He was still facing the door when Tauriel's wavering voice broke out behind him with the smallest creak of a taught bow.

"I suggest you stay where you are if you value your health." Her voice was swimming with emotion, fury being the dominant one with a strong undertone of grief that fought to melt her into tears.

Thranduil froze, his brow twisted in anguish. The cracking of her voice pulled at his heart strings, and he could nearly feel the pain radiating from her.

He knew that feeling well. She could not be alone like this.

He turned around slowly and took a step forward towards her. Tauriel's arms were pulling her bow taught in a white-knuckled grip. He looked down the shaft of the barbed arrow into her once lively eyes that shone with unshed tears. Her lips twitched in anger.

"Tauriel," he breathed. He stepped forwards again.

"Do. Not. Move," she snarled.

"What are you doing, _penneth_? I know the passing of Jaseric tears your heart, as it does mine, but anger will not bring him back." His voice was sad and his eyes reflected as understanding sympathy.

She faltered. Her head screamed with accusations and she ground her teeth together. Her body quivered with the storm inside her and she fought the threatening sting in her eyes.

"Nothing will bring him back," her voice was flat.

"I know it hurts, Tauriel, but you need to let someone help you," his voice was pleading. This was a rare attitude for him to display at all, but he knew what she felt all too well to remain cold.

"And help me how? You said yourself nothing can bring him back. What is help? To tell me you're sorry and everything will be alright? Well then you're _wrong_!" she was yelling now, the flood in her eyes unleashed as they cascaded down her flushed cheeks.

"He was injured; could you not have spared him his duty just once? I loved him! And now he’s gone and it _hurts_.

"But how would you know what it’s like? To love someone is to care; and how would _you_ know?” Her voice broke painfully and she began to whisper. "Everything has been taken from me. And it's _all. Your. Fault."_

Thranduil's heart wrenched from his chest with every word and he shuddered at the furious fire that shone in the depths of Tauriel's eyes. The words burned deeply, because he knew. Oh how he knew it was his fault.

His memory returned to the darkness of the plains of Dagorlad.

oOo

_Thranduil rested his forehead on the still chest of his father, tears dripping freely onto the broken armor and mingling with the blood that seemed to drench the king's whole body. The young ellon caressed his father's face, his eyes completely dull if it were not for the tears that glistened in them. His breathing came in hitched gasps and he felt his heart was tearing itself apart from his being._

_Grief hit him in unrelenting waves, drowning him mercilessly and driving any coherent thought from his head. There was nothing. Nothing but pain, emptiness, and regret. Regret he had never known his father like a father and son should. Regret that they spent all their time apart with hardly more than a spare moment to nod to each other in passing._

_But now he felt it. Felt it hard. It tore through his soul like a charging, mounted spear. And there was nothing he could do._

_He wished with all his heart he would've died in his father's place, as he had with his mother. Both of them died for him._

It’s not worth it! _His mind had screamed as his mother fell to the blades of the cursed in his place. _

It’s not worth it,_ his heart wailed as his tattered súlë writhed inside him, freely bleeding from a new loss that hollowed him._

_He clenched his teeth, blood seeping through his lips and dribbling off his chin. Pain crippled his chest and his hand lingered at the gaping hole that fell not many finger-widths from his heart that would have killed him instantly. But it didn't. It didn't because his father pushed him out of the way and used his own body as a shield for his son's. And was killed because of it._

I’m not worth it, ada...

I‘m not...

oOo

"Tauriel, _saes_..." He stepped forwards.

"I said don’t move!" She panicked and let go of the bowstring. The arrow whizzed to it's target; but found only the wall.

Thranduil moved with lightning speed, but was a fraction too late. He gripped his arm, blood seeping through his fingers from the graze. His face bore a wide, innocent look that belonged more to the shock of an elfling's face when they had been struck by someone they trusted.

His expression melted almost instantly. It dripped down and hardened like iron into that passive scowl that let apathy seep into his eyes to cover his heartache. But, of course, he was the only one who knew that.

Anger bubbled hotly in Tauriel's eyes. She flexed her jaw and drew the twin daggers from her belt with a daunting hiss; the light glinting on the steel matching the glint in her eyes.

She stepped forwards; he stepped back.

"Is this what he would want, Tauriel?" Another step back. His gaze briefly touched the blades before searching her face again.

Impulsive fury drowned her reasoning. “You know what he wanted? He wanted to live." Her face was set in stone.

Thranduil shook his head, at a loss for words. He stepped back again. His back hit the wall.

With anger commanding her, Tauriel lunged forward with a cry. Her blades flared in the light.

The Sinda caught the bare blade with his fingers at his throat. She met his eyes. The depths shone with a deep, scarring sadness and she hesitated.

_What am I doing? _The familiar accusations raced through her head. _I have to I have to I have to; this is a dream, just a dream, oh _finish_ it! _

She clenched harder on the back of her teeth and pressed the blade against his neck, forcing his chin up. The steel bit farther into his fingers and a small gasp escaped his lips.

Scarlet blood burst from the pale skin and flowed in rivulets down her blade and dripped into the collar of his tunic. She watched mesmerized as the blood slithered down the glistening steel and seeped through her fingers. Her skin burned where the silvery blood touched it. Her fury flickered.

"You've left me no choice..." his voice was almost a whisper.

His hand wrapped around hers that hung at her side, clenching the other knife. He squeezed her fingers against the hilt and jerked violently, earning a small cry as the blade was wrenched from her hand.

Her eyes widened as the blade left his hand, spinning hilt over blade towards the window. They met with a sickening crash and the pieces of glass flew against her face, but her other hand did not waver until he gripped her wrist with a bloodied hand. The wetness stung. Thranduil tried to ease the bite of the blade once again, but she would have none of it.

Armed soldiers burst through the door with Feren and Dorthion at their head. Feren froze at the sight. But what disturbed him most was the elf behind the blade. Tauriel.

Quickly snapping out of his stupor, Feren rushed forwards, but Dorthion was already at Tauriel's side.

"_STOP_," she screamed. Her eyes flit about the room nervously.

Everyone froze. The room was silent enough to hear the buzz of a bee outside.

Dorthion's eyes flicked to the shattered window with the twin of Tauriel's blade buried among the shards. His gaze shot back to the two elves at the sound of a small and sharp intake of breath from the king. Blood flowed at an alarming rate from his neck.

Thranduil's eyes probed his, pleading silently. Dorthion tore his eyes from the king's and looked intently to Tauriel.

He knew the punishment for an attempt on the king's life, and he feared she would be shown no mercy. Thranduil's anger was often swift and unpredictable, and he was bound to the laws of the Realm.

The will of his duty screeched against the will of his heart. Tauriel didn’t mean it; he was sure. He feared what this would do to her damaged _súlë_.

Blood dripped from the blade onto the floor.

Dorthion's eyes hardened with resolve. Being the only one close enough to the two elves to do anything, he moved quickly.

Dorthion had Tauriel unarmed in moments and it took all the restraint he possessed to not simply let her go or pull her into an embrace with a mantra of comforting words.

Instead duty steeled his actions and he had her arms pinned behind her back despite her violent struggles. The guards swarmed from the door and surrounded her, another elf taking hold of her other arm.

Feren was at Thranduil's side in an instant.

Dorthion watched her with sympathy as they locked eyes. Fire flared in hers as she tore them away to glare at the king.

"I _hate_ you," she snarled through her teeth.

Dorthion's eyes widened and his racing heart nearly dropped in his stomach. _Do not make it worse than it already is!_

He looked towards Thranduil, scared of what he might find. The Sinda only watched her sadly, nodding to Dorthion as a signal to take her away. The warrior turned and lead the small group through the door and down the halls to the depths of the palace.

_What has become of you, mell pen?_

oOo

"What happened? Are you alright?" Feren instinctively took Thranduil’s hand and pressed his fingers against his wrist for the pulse.

Thranduil stared at the door and nonchalantly rendered to Feren’s ministrations.

"Come, Filendis will want to see you."

Thranduil shook his head. He needed to take his mind off the exchange. He knew what grief can do to a soul and had little anger for Tauriel, but he was very hurt by her accusations.

He was really beginning to feel the weight of the siege and knew he had a fair amount of work piling up for him, including figuring out what to do with the human he brought to the palace. It seemed the young human was more work than it was worth and would have to be dealt with soon. Thranduil sighed. After he figured out how to get Galion safely past the rebels.

"Nay. I will see to Legolas. Be sure no one disturbs us unless there is an emergency. I can take care of myself," he added on quickly, cutting off Feren's protests.

Feren searched Thranduil's face. Weariness was prominent in his features and Feren could tell the stress of their situation was weighing down on him heavily. He could tell that whatever happened with Tauriel had only worsened his condition.

He nodded, knowing his friend would be alright in Legolas' capable hands. Feren squeezed his hand gently. "Be safe, _mellon nin."_

Thranduil gave him a tired smile and disappeared out of the doorway.

oOo

"Legolas what do I do?" Estel hissed anxiously.

The prince's eyes shot to the doorway and back to Estel.

"Uhh, under the bed! _Quick_!"

Aragorn slid off the sheets and under the bed as Legolas arranged the blankets to droop to the floor, covering the small gap between the floor and the mattress, and shoving a few pillows under to the human; he didn't know how long his father planned to stay.

"Come in!"

Thranduil eased the door open and clicked it shut behind him. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, no, I was awa— _Hir_ _nin_, what happened?!" Legolas gaped at the bright red stains on Thranduil's tunic and blood running softly from a slice in his neck and cut on his arm.

Estel jumped involuntarily at the Elvenking's voice and pressed his cheek to the floor, peering out of a small gap in the folds of the sheet. His confusion grew at Legolas' remark as he watched Thranduil's booted feet walk with a slight limp to the bedside.

"Don't call me that, Legolas." He remained silent as he poured some water from a pitcher into a crystal bowl and washed the blood from his hands.

"_Ada_," Legolas persisted. "Tell me."

Thranduil didn't respond and proceeded to tend to his arm, wrapping it tightly and stemming the bleeding.

Legolas' concern grew from the lack of response from his father, and he could tell that whatever had happened had bothered him deeply.

The prince reached over to the nightstand and picked up a few small, tear-drop shaped leaves that had prominent light green veins that ran from one tip of the leaf to the other. He moved over to one side of the bed. "_hir_—_Adar_. Come here."

Washing the blood as best he could from his neck, Thranduil sank against the headboard onto the bed next to Legolas, letting his son press the herbs to the slice that was still bleeding freely.

"Tell me," Legolas repeated. He noticed grimly Thranduil's face was a shade paler than usual and he looked tired and drawn. "Who did this?"

Estel frowned. Who did what? He wished he could see what happening, especially after recognizing the scent of fresh athelas and another herb used to stop bleeding that floated on the air.

Thranduil leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes with a sigh. "Tauriel."

Legolas blinked. "Tauriel what?" Had she been injured as well?

"You asked who did this and I'm telling you. It was Tauriel."

Color drained from Legolas' face. He gulped. "She tried to kill you." It was a statement.

"I think thats where she was going with that, yes." Thranduil's tone was light, almost bored, but Legolas could tell there was more to it than Thranduil was telling him. He couldn't believe Tauriel had it in her to do anything of the sort and he promised himself to visit her later.

Aragorn didn't know who Tauriel was, but was shocked that someone the Royals trusted had made an attempt on the king's life.

"Why?" the prince breathed hoarsely.

"Grief is a strong emotion, Legolas. It can either destroy you or find excuses for you to destroy others. It depends whether or not you let it control you." And he looked very thoughtful.

Legolas peeled the leaves from Thranduil's throat and dabbed the rest of the blood off with a soft cloth. He would tell him when he was ready.

Legolas sighed inwardly. Like everything else; if he was ever ready.

"_Hannon_ _lle_.”

A tense silence followed. Thranduil rose from the bed.

"_Hir_ _nin_," Legolas hesitated. "I think you should have someone with you. All the time. A bodyguard."

Thranduil huffed a heavy chuckle and shook his head. "_Ai_, there goes mother hen number five. That sounds like something Feren would agree to."

"Right at that, _hir_ _nin_," came a voice from the door; Feren.

Thranduil turned sharply and began to protest, but the warrior cut him off. "It's an emergency; Galion has just arrived, and with a few... unexpected guests."

The Elvenking's eyes widened incredulously. "Galion? Is he unharmed?"

"Yes, quite, though I heard they ran into some interesting characters..." A part of the heavy weight lifted off Thranduil's shoulders.

"They?"

"Yes, they. Lord Elrond has accompanied Galion with his two sons. Lord Elrond seems very eager to speak with you."

"And I as well. I have yet to hear how they broke through the siege line. Come, Estel. I am sure you are anxious to reunite with your family."

Legolas gaped and quickly reminded himself to keep his jaw shut.

Estel crawled hesitantly from under the bed and shared the same look of unbelief with his new elven friend. Aragorn started slightly at the amount of blood that soaked the king's tunic and intimidation alone kept him from staring.

Thranduil smiled smugly to himself and gestured to the door with an elaborate sweep, standing up straighter and lifting his chin. Aragorn mistakenly met his eyes which clearly read '_I'll be seeing you. Alone.'_ Estel hurried out of the door.

"I suggest both of you change before seeing to the guests," said Feren knowingly.

"Aye. And be sure to put on something worthy for guests. You are not going hunting anytime soon," Thranduil said, inspecting Legolas' disheveled garments.

"Yes, and you will march right up those stairs and right back in here if you feel the slightest pain or fatigue, hmm?" Feren said.

Legolas sighed and threw his hands up in exasperation but was really overjoyed to have permission to leave his bed.

"And you speak of mother hens," Legolas muttered as he limped out of bed to his wardrobe.

Feren lead the way out of the room, Thranduil clicking the door shut behind him. He was eager for answers as well.

oOoOoOo

Mell pen... dear one


	15. The Meeting

Chapter 15~ The Meeting

Two whirlwinds of emotion collided within Tauriel. She closed her eyes, harshly raking her fingers through her hair, and baring her teeth to the stone wall that enveloped her from all sides. Light filtered through the bars of the door of the small cell, its small ray casting a somewhat warm glow into the little chamber.

She hated it. Hated herself for doing this. She hated feeling so vulnerable and alone. Hated the how much she hurt; how much she hurt others.

_But you had to, there was no other way,_ she reminded herself.

She shook her head mournfully and pressed her forehead to the cool stone, tears streaming down her cheeks. _I would rather die than do that again._

Tauriel took the small leather skin, half the size of the palm of her hand and slipped it from her sleeve. She squeezed the bottom of the leather container, swishing around the red liquid inside. Blood. The king's blood.

A small stone skittered down the wall right outside the cell. She quickly tensed and clasped the skin between her hands, corking it shut and keeping it hidden in the folds of her tunic. No further sounds were heard and she relaxed, slumping down the wall. _So he hasn't come yet._

Her thoughts returned to the episode with Thranduil. She winced and closed her eyes tighter, trying to block out the memory of the pained look on his face that echoed through her head. _You had to, Tauriel. It saved his life and you know it._

_I wish I could tell him. Tell him everything._

_'All your fault'_ She didn't really think that... or did she? She gulped. She didn't want to admit it, but her accusations had not come from thin air.

She exposed the small skin once again and turned it over in her fingers. Why he wanted it, she was scared to know, but at least she postponed the threat, and then she would tell Thranduil everything; but at what cost? She prayed someone would come to visit her before it became too late.

Tauriel stood sharply and wiped her face at the sound of stone grating on stone and a small click. A flurry of a rich gold head of hair came into view in between the bars. The _ellon_ raked his hand through his hair devoid of his usual braids, pushing it back from his face.

It was Gindorelle. The treacherous ex-General.

Wordlessly, he held out his hand. Disgust written all over her face, Tauriel approached the bars. She looked down disdainfully at his hand and hesitated with the small skin in her hand.

"Come now, Tauriel. Just because he isn't in my sights at the moment, doesn't mean I can't change that much quicker than you can scream loud enough for anyone to hear you."

Tauriel continued to bore Gindorelle with a furious glare. He raised a belittling eyebrow.

"Or even perhaps I would even pay the one you call Greenleaf a visit. He escaped from us once, and I'm afraid he won't be so fortunate in my hands. I always said Denisale's soft streak would cause him failure." He paused his ramblings to let out a weary sigh. "He'd be an easier target, anyhow. The older Sinda must have a whole contingent trailing him around after what you did. Quite a performance, there _penneth_; I would've been fooled myself." He laughed and a formidable grin spread across his face and his eyes smirked knowingly. "If it was a performance at all."

Tauriel grit her teeth harder and Gindorelle took a taunting step backwards, an irritating smile plastered on his handsome face. '_What you did'; I had to!_ But she could not shake the fact that he was right, even just a little bit. She would never have let her anger take her to that extent. _I had to!_ she reassured herself again.

With another scowl, Tauriel dropped the skin into his hand and quickly backed away from the grated door. She continued to glare at him from her seat on the bench as he uncorked the leather bottle and smiled at the contents. A muffled jangle and flash of silver in Gindorelle's coat caught Tauriel's attention, though she gave no outward indication. She changed tactics.

"Leave. Leave and never return."

He looked at her with mild surprise as another grin cracked his face.

"Mmm, perhaps." He flashed her his teeth and disappeared out of sight.

She smiled grimly to herself, a sequence rolling out in her mind as she memorized her surroundings. He was definitely coming back.

oOo

Thranduil smiled politely and inclined his head to Lord Elrond and his sons, who were feeling rather refreshed after their journey.

He let his eyes linger on the Noldor elf lord with another one of his signature stares. Elrond met the Elvenking's eyes unwaveringly, though he was clearly uncomfortable.

Thranduil had rather neutral feelings for this elf, and he was satisfied to maintain a distant and formal relationship with him. And it was always better to keep a good tie with the other elven realm. They even occasionally traded with each other and traveled across the Misty Mountains to attend a feast held every twelve years.

He was a Noldo after all; more Ëarendil's son than Elwing's; and Thranduil had a...history with the Noldor.

Lord Elrond surveyed Thranduil with his expert eye and watched him carefully. Exhaustion radiated from him and his eyes appeared slightly dull. He maintained his usual haughty carry, though it seemed he did so with difficulty, as if bearing a heavy weight. Even the golden glitter in his hair had less radiance.

_Strange_, thought Elrond as he observed dark circles under his eyes that seemed to fade to blend in with the rest of his face then darken again. _And interesting... I wonder where he learned the Concealing arts._

Elrond along with Elladan and Elrohir bowed and stepped to the side to pay their respects to Legolas, letting Galion come forward and bow hastily before sharing a bright smile with Thranduil.

A glitter of delight entered Thranduil's eyes when Galion had come forward, and to Elrond's surprise, Galion rushed forward and threw his arms around Thranduil, who met his friend's embrace with a firm one of his own.

"Are you well, Thranduil?" Galion whispered into Thranduil's hair.

"No, _mellon nin_. Not at all," Thranduil whispered back, unheeding his gaping audience.

Galion pulled away with a warm smile lighting his smooth features, but a troubled look in his dark green eyes. He was looking forwards to an explanation to what on _Arda_ was going on. From whatever he had seen; it didn't look good.

The Lords of Imladris started slightly after spotting a sheepishly grinning Estel from behind Legolas who was trying his best to look innocent while hiding himself behind the golden prince—failing badly.

Elladan and Elrohir resisted the urge to rush forward and crush the young human in an embrace; or give him a good knock upside the head for sneaking out on his own, they couldn't decide. They contented themselves to leave the discipline up to Lord Elrond.

Thranduil turned away from Galion and Feren's locked embrace to the Lords of Imladris.

"Please forgive the delay, I can imagine you are weary and have not had a warm morsel in a while. Come, we will talk under the stars."

Thranduil lead the small company to a large verandah on the second level that lined up with the middle of the bulk of the trees' leaves. A sweeping candle-topped oak table was nestled between the flowing rails, and oaken chairs carved in a similar fashion were placed methodically around the oval table.

Branches, like long fingers, reached over the flet to embrace the occupants with their twirling leaves, but not thickly so as to obstruct the view of the starry expanse above.

The moon had already risen above the mountain peaks, showering the woody land beneath in pale light with the aid of the shimmering stars. Pleasant and energizing smells of greenery and the woodland foliage were breathed in deeply and greedily.

The elves were seated and a hot venison and vegetable stew was served to the guests. They were just about to begin their exchange when an _elleth_ rushed onto the verandah and addressed Thranduil with a bow. Elrond caught a restrained sigh from the Sinda, as well as his grimace of discomfort as he massaged his temple.

"Please excuse the interruption, _hir nin,_ but I have an urgent message from the Master Healers."

"Very well, what is it?" His voice sounded wearier than he would've liked to admit.

The messenger gave the guests a hesitant glance. "Forgive me for not clarifying, but it was addressed to _aran nin_ only."

Thranduil nodded in understanding then deftly concealed a grimace at the action that Elrond was sure only he noticed, and slowly rose from his seat.

"Excuse me for a moment."

He turned to take a step to the balcony doors when a dizziness overcame him and his knees buckled from under him. He sank to the ground, the chair making an ear-piercing screech as it scraped across the floor from his attempt to break the fall.

His eyes flashed with surprise before rolling to the back of his head, and he lay limply with his head resting on the arm that managed to stay draped across the seat of the chair.

They had all risen at once and rushed to his side. Galion knelt hesitantly and clasped his arm. Thranduil's eyes suddenly fluttered open and he lifted his fingers to massage his temple once again.

Elrond instinctively reached for the pulse at his neck but he suddenly grabbed Elrond's wrist tightly and gave him a steady glare.

Elrond caught the flash of an all-too-familiar red stained white of a bandage from the high collar of his vest and backed off from his glare that clearly read '_it's none of your business'._

The messenger hovered anxiously about, conflicted between trying to find a way to help, and staying out of the way.

"What was _that_?" snapped Galion.

Feren gave him a warning glare, gesturing with his eyes to the other elves. Galion returned the look with a small but exasperated shake of his head and returned his attention to Thranduil.

"Are you alright?" he tried again.

Legolas, Estel, and the twins exchanged concerned glances but stayed out of the way.

"Do you have a headache?" Feren countered. He wasn't a healer but all the Greenwood warriors were required to a a basic course in handling immediate dangers and other basics; knowing the symptoms of blood loss was one of them.

"Nothing I can't handle," said Thranduil through his teeth. He was nearly outwardly seething. So much for his dignity.

Galion helped him to his feet but let go of him as soon as he was sure his friend could stand on his own; he knew how much Thranduil hated being coddled, especially in front of others. Especially Noldor Lords.

Thranduil blinked several times before once again gesturing to the messenger.

"Thranduil, are you sure you don't need to—" Galion was cut off by a sharp cuff from Feren. Feren lightly shook his head and motioned for everyone to sit down as the Elvenking slowly disappeared behind the balcony doors with the uncertain _elleth_ in tow.

They all obliged and a somewhat uncomfortable silence stretched between them before Elladan spoke up. "Will Lord Thranduil be alright?"

Elrond smiled lightly at his son's genuine concern but remained silent despite the questions racing through his head. His children did not fully understand the complicated relationship between their father and the Sindarin lord.

Feren echoed Elrond's smile. "Yes, he will be. Though I'm afraid the stress of our situation is weighing down on him heavily."

This time Elrond couldn't restrain himself.

"We encountered some...unsavory characters on our way here rather close to the stronghold that had me concerned. They were human and all heavily armed." He gave Aragorn an apologetic glance. "What exactly is the 'situation' you are referring to?"

Feren exchanged a glance with Legolas who dropped his head before responding quietly. "We are under siege."

Elrond's eyes flew open in surprise and he nearly dropped his spoon before turning to Feren questioningly when Legolas provided no elaboration.

Feren opened his mouth to speak when the balcony doors flew open and a very unhappy looking Thranduil emerged. He stalked back to the table, making notable effort to conceal his limp.

No one dared ask what news had come to him. Before sitting back down, the Elvenking stopped to run his eyes over the elves around the table.

Estel wasn't sure if it was only his imagination but he felt like the king's eyes hardened when they alighted on him and an involuntary shiver ran down the young human's spine that had nothing to do with the cool evening breeze.

Thranduil finally seated himself, taking care not to move sharply to inflict another spasm of dizziness that would make a rather horrid combination with his pounding headache. He poured himself another glass of wine.

"Lord Elrond. I understand you arrived not too long ago and somehow managed to slip through the thieving rebels that hold this fortress under siege. Enlighten me if you will." He raised his goblet in a silent toast.

"Please, it is Elrond." Thranduil gave him a small nod but did not oblige to return the show of friendship. Legolas gulped and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"We encountered a band of the _Edain_ the forest less than a league from the stronghold. Thankfully, we saw them before they detected us and were able to use the Eagle as a distraction for us to get to the other side of the camp amidst the confusion we created—“

"Eagle?" Legolas blurted, the tips of his ears turning red and he ducked his head in apology for interrupting. His eyes fluttered to his father before returning to rest on his hands. They were trembling lightly.

"That's right, Legolas," Elrond continued with a smile. "A young one at that. Elladan found him amidst the brush with an injured wing while we were still following the path of the stream. He's resting in the stables now."

"What would one of those beasts be doing this far East?" Feren mused.

Thranduil swirled the wine in his goblet. "Mithrandir."

Elrond nodded slowly before continuing. "Before we devised a plan for getting past the rebels, we were able to scout around and try to see what their business was. I never would've imagined—“ his voice broke and four pairs of eyes watched him intently, almost leaning in to the response. Elrond shook his head with his gaze set on the table and he traced the vine carvings with his finger as if he was far away somewhere else. "We can never be sure, but the implications were so strong and—"

"By the _stars_, Noldo!" Thranduil almost growled. He had rarely seen the elven lord so troubled before and was worried of what that might mean for his beloved forest and people. He took a dramatic breath and closed his eyes before leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. "Pray, go on," he said drawled. He gave his wine goblet a sidelong glance but seemed unwilling to make the move to pick it up.

Elladan steeled himself then picked up where his adar left off. "The rebels had wagons. Many large wagons that they were loading with many crates. As many as each could hold, actually. The crates...were filled with vials. We were able to take one."

Elrond pulled a simple glass cylinder from his coat and handed it to Thranduil. He turned it over in his fingers.

There was a fine, black powder inside the corked container that seemed to be clawing against the walls, wanting to burst forth. It didn't move on its own, but the stuff was seemingly alive as the small grains squirmed and tumbled over each other under gravity's influence.

It had only one color but seemed almost mesmerizing; a swirling, black void. Tangible darkness.

Thranduil uncorked it and a harsh smell drifted out. It's familiarity hit him full-force. The fog bombs. It smelled eerily similar to the fog bombs planted by Denisale.

Feren seated on Thranduil's left leaned over his shoulder to get a better whiff. "Is it...?"

Thranduil's had his eyes trained on the container and nodded slowly. He suddenly corked it shut and thrust it back into Elrond's hands.

The fumes of the vial had returned the ferocious sting to his lungs and the pain was slowly creeping to his skin. His eyes watered fiercely and he blinked rapidly to clear his vision and let out a few dry coughs.

_Valar; what is this new devilry?_

Elrond furrowed his brows and put the vial away.

"I don't understand," said Legolas with a frown.

Elrohir spoke up timidly; it very unlike him to ever be timid.

"We're not sure what it is, but it is definitely evil and we have not dared to touch it. The _Edain_ mentioned that they disliked having the crates around, but of course that didn't help much." Aragorn nodded in silent encouragement and Elrohir gave him a small half-smile before casting his eyes down and using an even quieter voice. Aragorn's heart rate climbed. "Like I said, we don't know what it is..." This time Elrohir met Estel's eyes. They were sad and he appeared strangely nervous. "We were hoping you would be able to fill us in, Estel."

Legolas' eyes widened in alarm. "Estel...?"

Aragorn froze. The Elvenking's blue ice bore into him accusingly.

"What...what do you mean, Ro?" he said.

"That golden haired elf. Who was he and why were you talking to him?" Elladan said.

"What—?"

"You should not have followed us Estel, though I had a strong feeling you would. That makes no exception for you to go galavanting about and socializing with complete strangers. Did you not realize that something was amiss? Did you not see the signs of the humans' occupation of the area?" Elrond hated to charge the young human like this, but it was important to know what information had been given out. Elrond himself couldn't help but be dismayed that his foster son might have unknowingly been a part of the elvendom's peril.

"I—I have seen no such things! I know of no such elf nor any sort of rebel camp! You must believe me!"

"But—but I _saw_ you Estel! How do you explain that? I saw _you_!" Elrohir himself was beginning to panic. He didn't understand!

"Then it was not me! I saw nothing, I swear I didn't! I swear on Elbereth herself!"

"That's far enough!" Thranduil exclaimed as he slammed down his wine goblet on the table. _Ai! That accursed vial burns!_

"He is not lying," Elrond said quietly. "Estel may be curious, but he's no liar." Not my_ boy_, he added silently to himself.

Galion shook his head. "Maybe we should continue this in the morning—"

"When we are all in better spirits," Feren finished, the two exchanging glances.

Legolas stood, pushing his chair away with the back of his knees. "I agree, I am rather wearied."

Elrond stood immediately after, followed by his three sons. "We shall continue in the morning then. Come Estel, you can share my bedchamber tonight."

"I'm afraid not." Thranduil's quiet voice made everyone freeze and turn to him. He sat up from his easy position in the chair and stood slowly.

"Excuse me?" Elrond simply wanted to be free from the presence of the fiery Sinda.

Thranduil smiled tersely. "I proclaim Estel under arrest."

"What?!" Elladan blurted. "For what?" Everyone else was equally taken aback.

"Under charge of poisoning several persons and possibly even murder. Not to mention maybe even being a rouge spy."

"_Hir nin_ that's ridiculous!" Legolas protested.

"Is it? Do you think the fact that several elves now lay at the doorstep of Mandos' Halls a mere day after they escaped them is a sort of excuse to be taken lightly? Those are our people, Legolas. Look where humans have gotten us in the first place! You simply do not know when to stop trusting."

Legolas ground his teeth together and his eyes flashed. _So that's what news the messenger brought_, he thought solemnly. Still, he refused to believe Estel was even capable of something so abominable. Then again, he had thought the same of Denisale.

Estel was watching his emotions and doubts play out on his face. The young human silently pleaded with him, but Legolas turned away.

"Feren," Thranduil silently ordered him with a forcibly stoic nod. The burning was beginning to get unbearable.

Feren gave Estel an apologetic smile before resting his hand on the young humans shoulder to escort him away.

Elrond inwardly seethed, as did Elladan and Elrohir. He knew for sure Estel hadn't done such a thing. It was rather frustrating really; Elrond had never paid much mind to being a lord, but now he craved having the power to command more than ever.

Elrond had always endured the Sinda's imposing presence and at times infuriating attitude, but no one intruded his family. No one. Especially not like this. He was going to give Thranduil a piece of his mind and have no regrets about it.

Thranduil's eyes followed Feren and his young charge out of the doors and he silently bid them hurry; the side of his face was really throbbing now and it was all he could do to fight the wail in his head that told him he needed to immediately sprint to his room and make up the draught before the illusion came undone. The burning sensation was eating through his very being and depleting his energy at an alarming rate.

"Galion please help Legolas to his room." Galion immediately obliged, grasping Legolas' arm and shoving him out of the door.

The Imladris Lords were already in the hall.

Elrond watched Thranduil's back retreat down the corridor. He wasn't going to permit him push Estel around, and Elrond was more than ready to let him know.

oOoOoOo


	16. Another Meeting

Chapter 16~ Another Meeting

Thranduil rushed into his private parlor and slammed the door behind him so hard it bounced right back open.

He did not slow as he flew about the room opening drawers and small shelves and chests to arrange the ingredients, more on instinct than anything else.

It had been a while since he had needed to make this draught, but his fingers seemed to remember the procedure well enough from when he had needed it in regular doses. He had kept all the things he needed handy and stocked in their respective hiding spots in his room just in case; he knew the pain would never go away. But it hadn't been this bad in a long time, though it was getting increasingly worse ever since the dreams of Shadow had started up again a few months ago...

Thranduil quickly drained the glass and sank onto a plush stool with his head tipped back against the wall and eyes closed, trying to calm his weary mind as he waited for the throbbing to fade. The illusion had already come undone.

He hoped it was only a sort of reaction to the black powder and would wear off soon. He was not about to blow his cover after all these years of keeping it hidden.

The Sinda groaned. Passing out right in front of the guests didn't help him out of getting cornered much. Especially that nosy Noldo Elrond. It would be a miracle if he hadn't noticed the bloody bandage around his neck.

_Speaking of..._

Thranduil pulled off his outer vest and unwound said bandage. A small trickle of blood still seeped through the slice and he quickly pressed the bandage back on it to refrain from staining his clothes again.

He had thought he felt the area on his neck remoisten with the burning sensation from the eerily familiar vapors from the vial, and now his suspicions were confirmed.

Thranduil cursed under his breath, failing to find what he needed in the the herbs that were now thrown in untidy heaps on the desk. He made a mental note to himself to add a clotting herb to his secret stash.

Well, not so secret for long.

A soft footstep too light for any but elven ears padded softly just outside the door.

oOo

Elrond stalked silently a little ways behind the Sinda. The Noldo kept him out of sight, but was easily able to trail him from the soft uneven padding of his footsteps. He sure seemed to be in a hurry.

Elrond was taken by surprise as a figure nearly crashed into him but they quickly regained their footing and continued to pound unevenly down the hallway.

Elrond stood pondering after the strange encounter as a couple palace guards on high alert came from the same direction and turned off at an intersection. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and returned to his original path, stopping only at a fork in the hallway to ponder which direction his quarry had fled, but was answered with a resounding crash of a slammed door. He followed the sound and crept in that direction, silently approaching an ornately carved door, slightly ajar.

Restraining the urge to rush inside and unleash his passionate vale, he peeked inside.

And froze.

Thranduil was turned so that he could only see one side of his face as he drained a dark green draught from a glass and let out a deep sigh of relief before taking a seat only to get up again and inspect whatever injury he had been hiding in the high collar of his clothing during the 'meeting'.

Elrond found this a good time to make his presence known.

oOo

Thranduil turned sharply, still holding the soiled bandage to the affliction, and quickly wound the illusion back on his face with an unusually large amount of effort.

His fist was balled and eyes flashing in a defensive stance.

Elrond strode into the room, closing the door shut behind him. The Noldo wondered why he was so alert while in the safety of his own room, but quickly put his mind back to his original task.

The Sinda relaxed immediately when he recognized the offender and sank back down on the stool and closed his eyes, weariness exceptionally prominent in his too-pale features.

Elrond stood across from him, arms crossed, back rigid, and stormy grey eyes looking at his quarry down the bridge of his nose; that was— what he learned in many, many, years of practice— a rather imposing stance. He felt a prick of disappointment when Thranduil didn't even open his eyes to see it.

"Tell me, Elrond, where did you find the means to follow a king into his chamber?" Thranduil didn't bother to hide the tiredness in his voice, hoping it sounded like boredom. He knew exactly why Elrond was here and was praying he wouldn't have to face the Noldo's temper until tomorrow at least. Apparently he was wrong.

The Elvenking looked so genuinely weary, Elrond almost wanted to pity him. Almost. There was no way he was leaving this room until order for Estel's release was given out. Estel did not deserve to be accused of horrid things the kind soul had probably never even dreamed of doing, much less be locked down in some dank, dark hole for it.

He knew how much Estel hated the dark and how he had a tendency to always find fault with himself. If he left the young human down there much longer, he would have probably already convinced himself in that silly little head of his that everything was his fault somehow. Now was not the time to ponder the Elvenking's sleep schedule when he was the very elf that had condemned his son.

Taking a deep breath and putting as much menace in his words as he possibly could, Elrond spoke, "Release him, and release him _now_."

Thranduil opened his eyes and blinked at Elrond in surprise, much to the _ellon's_ smugness. He had been expecting a lecture from Elrond with a sort of subtly hidden request for that runt of a human's release; not this conspiratorial, outright demand. Thranduil didn't know it was even in the healer to talk in that tone.

But Thranduil merely stared, wondering if the demand had come from the wall rather than the kindly elf lord. So Elrond unleashed.

"How _dare_ you even think Estel would do such a thing! Your prejudices have merely bothered me before, but now you have crossed the line! An unfortunate accident happens within a mile of a human and you immediately blame it on him! He saved your son's life, and this is how you repay him?! I'm _incensed_, Thranduil. Your condescending attitude has infuriated me like no other and I have 3 sons! One of which you have falsely accused and arrested! I want him out of that hole and the sooner the better—"

"_Do you think me a fool, Elrond?!_ I know your precious son did _not_ in fact poison those elves, because he was with Legolas and I when it happened." Elrond fell silent immediately and Thranduil lowered his voice before continuing. "I believe he has an imposter, for a healer of mine has informed me of such, and keeping Estel out of reach and under guard is the best way to keep him _safe_." A small look of triumph crossed Thranduil's face as Elrond slumped slightly, dumbstruck. Then Elrond turned on him a withering glare.

"You did not have to make everything so _public_. The poor boy is probably overcome with guilt! You could have at least told us."

Thranduil looked at Elrond like he was naughty elfling and spoke as if what he was saying was the most obvious thing on _Arda_. "Well if I outright _told_ you, I could not do so casually without being overheard, and taking session in an office or meeting chamber would draw attention would it not? What's the point of having an inconspicuous manhunt when everyone _knows?_ That would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

_Oh Valar, preserve my temper..._

Elrond bit his tongue to restrain a retort and sufficed himself with a light twitch of his eyelid that could've indicated an eye roll instead.

"Well nevertheless I want him out of that hole. He is not some sort of common criminal to be treated as such."

"Do you not understand!" Thranduil nearly yelled, harshly raking his fingers through his hair. His head began to swim and pound again and his stomach desperately wanted to revolt. "I cannot—"

Without warning, Elrond rushed over to his side and pressed him against the wall, cutting him short and wrenching the bandage from his hand and frowning at the blood that pooled and trickled from the cut.

It should have clotted long ago, especially after applying the clotting herb he noticed the Green Elves favored. He had noticed the blood soaking through the cloth at an alarming rate and the irregular sheen appear on his brow and immediately decided something was very wrong.

This earned a surprise yelp from Thranduil.

"_Hands __off, Noldo!_" he growled and attempted to wriggle out of the healer's grasp, but to no avail. His own weakness frustrated him. He simply wanted to sleep all his worries away and escape this horrid nightmare.

"What is _this_?" Now that Elrond had a closer look, he could see it was a rather clean and deep cut that had been pressed against his neck rather than just a lucky swing with the blade. The life-vein had been punctured, attesting to the large amounts of blood loss. Thranduil just stared at him.

Elrond took a deep breath and calmed himself, silently bidding Estel to wait. "It will be much easier for us both if you just tell me what is going on. Let me help you."

Elrond looked so genuinely concerned, it would make one think his anger had disappeared suddenly, the kind nature of the healer in him harnessing the fire, overruling it, and taking charge. But they would be wrong, as knew Thranduil. The discussion was merely postponed. The warrior in Elrond definitely shined brightest where his remaining family was concerned.

"There's more to all of this than you're telling me.”

"Aye, that there is." They both fell silent and Thranduil stayed still while Elrond fussed over him, having not the energy to protest. Elrond did not press him further and instead focused on the task in front of him, his worry mounting with the observations he was currently making as he assessed his new, unexpected patient.

"Why were you still bleeding?"

"That accursed vial you brought. The fumes must've caused it somehow," Thranduil answered nonchalantly, and the silence stretched on once again. Elrond made a mental note to himself to examine the contents of the vial as soon as he gathered the correct equipment. He waited for Thranduil to tell him the news.

"Care to enlighten me?" said Elrond after a lapse of silence.

Thranduil continued to stare out of the window on the opposite side of the room, getting lost in the shimmering stars that illuminated the waving foliage as best he could as everything tilted and wavered before his eyes.

Elrond waited, somehow getting the bleeding to slow considerably and redressing the area, along with the mystery cut on his wrist that had begun bleeding again as well.

Suddenly the Elvenking spoke. "There was a battle Elrond." He paused slightly, and Elrond almost jumped at the sudden bluntness of his remark. "The _Edain_, they attacked. And won, putting us in our current state."

The Imladris lord drew is brows together. "How?"

It was a given that elven warriors were superior to human ones, but the rebels his small caravan had passed looked nothing more than simple smiths, farmers, and townspeople. It was absurd that any amount of the humans would be able to put the stronghold under siege. Much less _this_ particular stronghold, with _these_ particular elves, and _those_ particular humans.

"We were sabotaged from the inside. One of my captains," he swallowed, "had gone rouge. Our bows rendered useless. He replaced my fog orbs with this horrid poison—" he stopped as his voice threatened to crack. Elrond had not seen him so vulnerable before. "A whole regiment. Slaughtered because of it. Our numbers dwindled and the new captain I appointed on the spur of the moment called a retreat. My commander; killed right from under my nose." He shook his head sadly, his brow twisted in anguish and pain reflected in his eyes. "They took Legolas. Demanded passage into the stronghold in exchange for his life. I refused them and we barely escaped in one piece. I suppose I have your Estel to thank for that."

Elrond looked up sharply and met Thranduil's eyes. He let them shine with a blessed ray of gratefulness before going blank again.

"Someone's trying to kill me, Elrond. I have had messengers come and inform me of the murmuring of the people before the battle and assault on Tedrin. They doubt my leadership. I could feel it brewing. Unrest is in the very heart of the forest; in the trees.

“But not entirely from the _Edain_, mind you. Something dark grows. A creeping, sleepless malice. It haunts me as the trees wail when afflicted in their demise."

He looked back to the window as if he could see the whole forest, his eyes slightly crazed. Fearful. Haunted. He then blinked as if to draw himself back into reality.

"Outsiders begin to call it Mirkwood, as I'm sure you are aware." Elrond nodded sadly. The darkness Thranduil spoke of troubled him far more than he let on. He supposed the king was having to juggle more problems than he was given credit for.

"At the present, our stores are running low. We can only survive this winter as a guarantee. There is no hope of fighting our way out with these numbers, and I believe the kingdom's demise lays in the vial you presented. I am at a loss on what action to take."

Thranduil had been careful to sound diplomatic as if he was just regarding whether or not to accept a trade negotiation, but Elrond had clearly heard the underlying fear in his last words. '_What if I'm not a good enough king to get my people out of this?'_

Thranduil searched his face, hungrily almost. His eyes held an anxious uncertainty, yearning for answers. Hoping to find solace for his fears in the elf lord's seemingly endless wisdom and experience, though it was very likely Thranduil was older than even Elrond. It made him look child-like; a bare uncertainty of what to do, and yet so burdened with a crumbling kingdom that couldn't help but fall through his fingers and leave him bruised on the way down.

Elrond struggled for the right words when the door opened without warning. Two brown heads filed in and clicked the door shut behind them. They turned and started slightly to see Elrond seated next to their king as if they had just interrupted a serious discussion, which, they had.

Elrond looked up into the familiar faces of Feren and Galion, equally startled.

Galion let his eyes roam about the room, settling on the various herbs he recognized from Thranduil's secret stash, and frowned. _That bad?_

Feren, always the protector, frowned at Elrond and studied Thranduil, wanting to satisfy himself with the reassurance that everything was alright.

"Legolas?"

"Asleep. What is it, _hir nin_?" said Feren, noting Thranduil's unsettled disposition as if he wanted to say something.

The Elvenking made a gesture to the sofa arranged in his parlor, outside the door. "I believe it is high time we all had a discussion."

Galion furrowed his brows and followed the other _ellyn_ into the parlor of sorts and settled down on the cushions.

Thranduil lingered in the other room, finally emerging, but without the expected bottle of wine. Instead he held a small key.

It was about as long as half his finger, a thin wire twisted like the gnarled branches of the trees of the realm.

The Sinda took his place next to Galion and fumbled with the key as if trying to press it into the table, blinking rapidly. Finally the key sank into its appointed hole with a satisfactory '_click_'. A small panel popped up and Thranduil lifted it, exposing a neat stack of paper arranged inside.

Galion's eyebrows rose until they threatened to become part of his hairline. He was the secretary and didn't even know this existed.

"I'll make it short. I found these in a secret compartment in Ausocitin's desk. He was my father's advisor, and mine for a while as well," Thranduil informed. "I have been studying them for a bit, and it seems my father had accumulated some stores of wealth in other cities. Human and dwarven cities as well.

“According to the reports, they used his money to give out loans to other people, and they, in turn, paid him a certain amount every month. Eventually they subtly declined periodical the pay they promised, and he ordered his money to be retrieved and restored to his own treasuries.

“But the Battle of Dagorlad left him in the Halls... and these documents were placed under lock and key; for the council members alone knew of his small experimental business.

“I knew not of this until yesterday, but it has been weighing heavily on my mind. I have yet to discover why Ausocitin has kept these from me; he is the only one of my father's council members that is still on these shores.

“The recovery of that wealth would bring a great relief, for we will need to nearly double out weapon stores, and have more young ones apprenticed as smiths and in leather craft to replenish the armories, and hold more soldiers in training at the stronghold—"

"Thranduil, hold on, what is all this?" said Feren.

"It matters not; we can deal with that later. But this discovery means we will again be a realm of plenty! We must first deal with the situation at hand."

"Not at all difficult yes?" Elrond said dryly.

Everyone ignored him.

The Noldo still did not understand why Thranduil was dragging him into all this. If anything, he had expected Thranduil to take great pains to keep the affairs of his kingdom far, far away from Elrond. Perhaps it was his own way of asking the Imladris Lord for help, probably because he was far to stubborn and haughty to admit it plainly.

Galion had been brooding in the crook of the cushions, rubbing his chin with his brow furrowed in concentration. He suddenly spoke up, a smile lighting his face.

"I do believe I have a plan." All eyes turned to him. "I first must check on a few matters to assure it’s relevancy, but that will have to wait until morning," he said with a pointed look at Thranduil.

Everyone grudgingly complied and Elrond made a move to leave. Galion and Feren made no sign of doing so.

Elrond paused in the doorway, recalling his original mission with the Elvenking. "And Estel—"

"_Not again, Noldo,__"_ Thranduil growled in a very firm, '_no_'.

Elrond sighed and turned his back on the room. He wasn't going to let Estel stay down there alone.

oOoOoOo

**A**/**N**: Here we are! Sorry, that chapter was a bit boring, but y'all needed to know some of this drama before we get to the action ;)


	17. And Yet More Meetings

Chapter 17~ And Yet More Meetings

Estel stole a glance up at his escort's face, shying away as Feren looked down at him. The royal captain smiled at the human with solemn fondness. He could feel the young adan fidgeting under his touch, and and could nearly feel the frantic pounding of his heartbeat as they descended to the darker, deeper levels of the palace.

The warrior pitied the poor boy, but he knew Thranduil wasn't completely irrational and always had his reasons. _Most_ of them Feren would comply with himself. He looked down at the human's anxious silver eyes and felt another wave of pity shoot through him. _Most_ of them.

"Don't worry, _penneth_. It is not as bad as you may think," Feren said in accompaniment to a warm smile.

Estel shifted again in his reluctant stride. "Does he always get like that when he's vexed?"

Aragorn sympathized that Legolas would have to live with a father like that. The aran hadn't seemed all bad when Estel had first seen him in the glade when Legolas had been freshly rescued, but now... he felt as if some of the tales about him were somewhat _under_ exaggerated.

Feren laughed. "Vexed? No, he wasn't angry, _penneth_, merely irritated and probably frustrated." He paused for a second as if in thought. "And tired," he decided to add.

Estel studied the tapestries that lined the hallway, perhaps a bit too intently. _Valar forbid I ever see him angry. Poor Legolas..._ He was beginning to think his tentative new relationship with the young elven prince was more of a blessing to him than to Estel.

But then, recalling the predatory glint in his eye; the feral quirk of his lips, the knife dancing between his fingers, and his unsettling laugh, Estel decided that perhaps father and son were not so different. Legolas just seemed, perhaps, a wilder, warmer version of Thranduil; more Silvan.

Feren struggled not to laugh at the young human's internal demise that played out on his face. Perhaps that hadn't been the best thing to say to settle his anxiousness.

"He's not _entirely_ mad, you know. He has his reasons and it will all work out on the end."

That didn't seem to convince Aragorn. "With my head rolling most likely," he muttered.

Feren stopped abruptly and fell to one knee, grasping Estel by the shoulders. He flinched.

"That will _not_ happen, Estel. Thranduil may be ill-tempered, but he would never do such a thing. You must believe that." He stood after a penetrative stare of sincerity and they both began walking again. Estel shuddered involuntarily as they descended to the base of the palace where the cells were, a cold draft washing over him and setting his nerves to a jig.

Feren let Estel walk into a cell on his own, clanging the door shut with an apologetic smile through the bars.

"Goodnight," said Feren.

Estel smiled somewhat sarcastically. _Right_...

The area plunged into darkness, save the few torches. Feren closed the gate that sealed off the tunnel leading to the prison from the upper levels of the palace. The keys jangled mockingly in the distance and all sounds of life disappeared but for the solitary drip drip of water off the cobbles.

It was then Estel noticed the cell across from him held an occupant. A red-haired elleth to be exact. She was standing and leaning against the bars, and Estel rose from his seat on the straw-stuffed mattress of his cot to do the same.

"Who are you?" she inquired.

"Estel Elrondion," he answered after a moment's hesitation.

A pleasant smile split her face. "Ahh the human son of Elrond. I've heard about you," she chuckled, not at all surprised that this human had somehow ended up down here. What a squabble with Lord Elrond that must've caused.

"And you are...?"

Her smile turned grim. "Tauriel. Captain Tauriel. Though I doubt I will still hold that position if I am ever released from here."

_Tauriel_... A light went off in his head. This was the elf that had tried to kill Thranduil.

"What offends do you have to the king to make an attempt on his life?" Estel surprised even himself with his bluntness.

She frowned. "I was not trying to kill him," the offense was evident in her voice.

Though he did not want to believe this rather pleasant elleth would do such a thing, he had seen a whole lot of blood.

She suddenly crouched down low and leaned into the bars, piercing Estel with a fierce stare so that he jumped.

"You must listen to me. I had wanted to tell Captain Feren but I would not get him caught talking to me down here. Gindorelle might come any minute and the king is in dang—"

"I would stop that right there, my sweet," came a voice farther down the row of cells. A golden haired elf strode into view, an irritating grin on his face.

Tauriel scowled in cursed passionately into her hair.

"We wouldn't want to raise the alarm, now would we," said Gindorelle smoothly.

He turned towards Estel's cell as if noticing him for the first time.

"Ahh yes. Company! We could always use more recruits," his voice was deceptively silky, and smile patronizing. Estel scowled in turn. There was something very off about this elf.

Suddenly, the familiar jangle of keys unlocking the grated gate in the tunnel resonated through the dank lower level.

Gindorelle immediately crouched into a ready position and stalked away to press himself against the cool stone wall, being out of sight to anyone who would be coming down the tunnel. He loosened a dagger in its sheath.

"The merest sound out of you two and whoever’s coming down here is dead," hissed Gindorelle, obviously alarmed.

oOo

As soon as Galion's soft padding footsteps were out of hearing range, Legolas 'woke' from his feigned sleep, and shot to his feet, immediately regretting the action as it sent a spiral of pain shooting up his leg.

He pulled on a dark cloak and cowl and rushed out of the door in already booted feet. He paused before exiting the room, eyeing the weapons on the wall, but swiftly decided on a dagger and tucked it into his belt.

After peering both directions of the corridor outside his parlor, he dared step out. Even though he was familiar with the guard's rounds, he wanted to be sure and knew he could miss them entirely if he hurried.

Closing the door behind him, he sped down the hallway, his legs protesting violently to the strain. He wiped away an unnatural perspiration from his forehead and pushed on through the winding hallways and flying down stairs. Naturally, he made a brief visit to his father's study to retrieve a set of keys before setting off to his original mission.

Going too fast to stop and hide before Lord Elrond came into view, Legolas veered sharply but could not entirely avoid the elf lord. They crashed into each other. Legolas did his best to keep his head down and pushed on, hoping Elrond hadn't recognized him.

There were no rushed footsteps in his wake him, so he was content to slow his pace and descend to the dark area where the cells were.

He stepped into the tunnel as warily as he could with his limp. He unlocked the gate, wincing at the sound of jangling keys and the ear-slitting squeak the gate made as he eased one open just enough for his lithe body to slip through.

There was no logical explanation to why he felt he needed to be so wary. He was simply acting on an instinctive hunch. And as a warrior, he trusted his instinct, as it had saved his life various times in the past.

He continued to descend, one step at a time, a hand lingering near the knife in his belt, and the hair at his nape raising on end.

It barely came to him now that things were a bit too silent down below, and he was in no shape to meet a healthy attacker should there be one. But if he wasn't safe down here, how could he be sure Tauriel and Estel would be? He was never known to back down from a fight.

The gate behind him creaked under a draft and he whirled around to meet the unseen assailant, knife in hand.

Unfortunately, that put the real assailant behind him.

A strong arm slammed around his neck and a hand was clasped against his mouth, lifting him from the ground entirely after a sweep of a leg that left him limp.

The _ellon_ had no time to react except emit a small groan as his back pressed against the wall, the hands now tightly gripping his shoulders. The knife was knocked out of his hand as the world rolled violently.

The hands pulled him from the wall and tossed him clear across the room, his light body hitting the cobbles outside Tauriel’s cell with a sickening thud.

Both Tauriel and Estel cried out in dismay.

Legolas groaned and rolled over, blood trickling from a gash at his temple. Gindorelle crossed the space in a flash and delivered a vicious kick to the golden ellon's middle, causing the latter yell out and curl in on himself.

Gindorelle stood back, satisfied that Legolas was beyond defending himself and sneered at the ellon, who inched open an eye to glare at the rogue general; blood dribbled sluggishly from his mouth.

"Gindorelle," Legolas ground out, "I should have known." He made no attempt to rise, propped up on his elbow.

"That's right, _Princeling_. You should have known," said Gindorelle, pulling his foot back for another kick, with the Sinda already cringing in anticipation.

Estel’s throat had gone dry and speech eluded him.

"STOP!" Tauriel screamed.

"Stop?" Gindorelle mocked. "And I suppose you're going to come over here and make me?" He delivered another kick out of pure spite. Legolas gasped out another yell and squeezed his eyes shut, curling into a fetal position as tight as he could manage. It was all he could do not to break into sobs.

Estel's heart pounded erratically in his ears. He gripped the bars, knuckles white, and gasped as Gindorelle unsheathed a knife and drew it tauntingly across Legolas' throat.

The golden ellon recoiled and shuddered in pain. The general pressed the point of the knife under Legolas' jaw, a bit too harshly than was necessary; the Sinda’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Gindorelle’s eyes were hard and shoulders stiff. He thought he had heard something.

"Not. A. Word."

oOo

Elrond continued down the dreary corridor with growing unease. He approached heavy metal gate and paused in consternation. It was swung wide open. He stepped through it tentatively and what he beheld at the end of the tunnel turned his blood to ice.

A blond, stocky-built ellon had another elf pressed under his knee with a knife at his throat in the crook between the floor and wall. The other elf appeared to be unconscious and blood leaked from his head and lips, staining his bright golden tresses. Legolas.

Elrond immediately alighted on the knife and ring of keys strewn across the ground, but a meter away from his current position. Tauriel and Estel struggled frantically against their confinements.

The blond elf turned turned towards Elrond, his handsome face twisted in an uncharacteristic sneer.

"I suggest you stay where you are, _mellon nin,_" he said.

The Noldo continued to eye the ring of keys and began to edge towards them, but immediately froze when the elf dug the knife deeper under Legolas' jaw, forcing a moan from his lips. _Ah, so he _is_ conscious._

If Elrond could only free Estel and Tauriel then they could overpower the rouge elf... But nothing much could be done while Legolas was under knife point and unable to get out of the predicament himself.

Tauriel had her eyes trained on Legolas' face. Her mind was racing with her original plan and she was chasing ideas on how she could execute her it.

But the chance came on it's own.

An arrow flew whipped past Elrond’s face from behind and skittered into the stone an inch away from Gindorelle's face.

The rogue’s eyes flew open wide in alarm and he leaned back dramatically to avoid the projectile. Right in front of Tauriel's cell.

She wasted no time and reached between the bars, grasping his tunic and pulling out a ring of keys, then banging his head against the bars, leaving him dazed.

Elrond dove for the keys one the ground, picking up the knife as well and freeing Estel. Tauriel was already crouching next to Legolas.

The owner of the arrow emerged from the shadows of the entrance tunnel with his twin counterpart. Elladan and Elrohir took action immediately, rushing forward to overpower the rouge elf...

But he had disappeared. They searched the entire area, but came up negative.

"He's gone," said Elrohir, clearly puzzled.

"It matters not, we must get Legolas out of here," Elrond responded tensely.

Tauriel was still kneeling next to the golden ellon, his hand clasped in hers, as she tenderly caressed his face, while whispering words of comfort to keep him awake.

Elrond stood over her, uncomfortable on what he had to say. She looked sharply at him as if reading his mind.

"I'm not going back. _Saes_, the king is in danger! I must speak with him quickly!" said Tauriel.

Elrond looked towards his sons and back to Tauriel. "I suppose. Though I have no authority to do this..."

"_Saes_, just give me chance! You won't regret it, I promise. _Saes_.."

Elladan came forward and offered his arm to the elleth, aware of his father's uncomfortable position. She took it reluctantly, with a last look towards Legolas' half lidded, encouraging smile.

Elrohir and Estel draped Legolas' arms across their shoulders, but quickly re-lowered him when he cried out in pain, tightly clutching his middle. Elrohir finally settled for completely carrying him; the ellon was too weary to protest.

The group rushed through the tunnel and up the various sets of staircases, once again to the king's bedchamber.

oOo

The threesome waited until Elrond was out of hearing range and Thranduil emitted a sigh.

"You know I will not sleep anyhow," said Thranduil. His words were so contradictory to what he currently felt, it almost hurt to say them.

Galion wagged his finger at his friend. "You can't fool me! You're nearly falling over as you speak. Off to bed with you!" his tone was playful, trying to make light of the situation.

In reality, the trio had had this conflict nearly every night now, even before Galion had left to visit Imladris, and they watched helplessly as Thranduil slowly deteriorated. A quick talk with Feren had proved that he had also been unsuccessful in getting the ellon to simply sleep in Galion's absence.

"_Saes_, I really do not fancy having this discussion again," said Thranduil. The burning had faded a bit, but was nowhere near being unnoticeable, and his head was still pounding with a passion. "Besides, I have much work to do."

Feren caught on to Galion's method, hoping to lighten up everyone's spirit. He walked over and plopped down on the sofa next to Thranduil, smashing him between himself and Galion. He pushed him over in a playful headlock and ruffled his hair, as he often did when they were elflings.

"Feren," he groaned. "Don't."

Galion's eyes twinkled. “Ah, come Feren. We should just drug him and be done with it.”

Feren laughed. “Indeed!”

"You two are insufferable, you know that?"

"Us?" they said simultaneously in mock-indignation.

"Now you sound like your father."

"Always spoiling our fun," added Galion.

"I won't allow you two in my room anymore if you do not let me alone."

A huff. "Wouldn't want that.”

"You're right, Feren, better listen or he’ll drag us out by our ears like a ragged pair of kicked mutts, hm?" Galion said.

"Certainly. For a closed door and an ill-tempered 'let me alone' would be effective in keeping us away."

Thranduil rolled his eyes, but without any irritation. He hadn't had a good laugh in a while. What would he do without these two?

The threesome were suddenly interrupted with an urgent knock at the door, that burst opened without waiting for a response. Elrond stood in the doorway, with Tauriel, a twin—Thranduil couldn't tell which one—and Estel behind him.

"_What is the meaning of thi__—_"

The Elvenking stopped short as the elves parted and made way for the other twin, carrying a bleeding and limp Legolas in his arms.

"Sweet Eru..."

oOoOoOo


	18. Of Reconciliation, Spiked Wine, and Elflings

Chapter 18~ Of Reconciliation, Spiked Wine, and Elflings 

"What happened?!" said Galion as Elrohir gently set Legolas down on the king's large bed.

Tauriel remained standing timidly in the doorway, flanked by a grim Elladan. She was anxiously shifting her weight from foot to foot, watching the current ministrations on Legolas with apparent worry. Thranduil met her eyes coldly and she immediately looked away. Estel stayed as far back as he could.

"I was on my way down to visit Estel," Elrond said while he prodded Legolas, relieved he didn't have a concussion. He picked through the herbs strewn on Thranduil's desk with a suspicious frown before continuing. "I found Legolas nearly unconscious with a blade at his throat."

Tauriel shivered uncomfortably. She debated whether or not to tell them... but the threat hung over her head. She could not reveal certain things, however obscure and unimportant they may be.

Feren scowled deeply. "This has gone much too far, my Lords. First a capture, then a siege followed by treachery and attempted murders on both the king and Crown Prince! _Preposterous_! This needs to stop!"

Tauriel studied her hands. So that's what I am. A criminal. An outcast.

Feren remained oblivious to the effect his words had on the young _elleth_. He himself was one to be swift and harsh like a summer storm quickly blown away.

Legolas moaned softly and Elrond's hands hovered at the neck of his tunic.

"Perhaps this should be discussed in a different room..." He did not want the young _ellon_ to waken to an earful of bickering.

They all complied, Thranduil brushing past Tauriel with hardly a glance. She stood uncertainly near the doorway, Elladan still at her elbow. Elrond struggled for words when Thranduil's voice floated from the other room.

"Escort her to her room, _saes_ Lord Elladan." It was a wild guess to which twin he was actually referring nag to, but it seems that he had guessed correctly this time.

Elladan nodded silently and gave Tauriel a tight smile before turning to leave, and gesturing out.

Elrond slipped off the young prince's shirt and grimaced. Bruises covered his entire middle. Some of the earlier, lighter ones had already faded to a yellowish color, but the ones across his chest were still a deep purple. More deep bruises layered on top of those, red marks outlining the exact shape of the toe of a boot.

Elrond probed his ribs as gently but Legolas still moaned and squirmed under his touch. It was a miracle nothing was broken. The poor _ellon_ was probably in a great amount of pain, and it was concerning that he was healing much slower than usual. Even his wrists were still incredibly raw. It was odd.

The Noldo came to the conclusion that he would need additional supplies just as the door creaked open.

oOo

Tauriel bit her lip as she continued down the corridor, Elladan gently holding her arm, letting her lead the way. She stopped suddenly and Elladan looked at her in wary puzzlement. He would hate to have to restrain her for she seemed a very fair character.

"I—I want to see him," Tauriel said. She bit her lip and pleaded with large, imploring eyes. Elladan sighed. They had already acted against the king by taking her out of the dungeons. But he had a feeling she needed this. Really needed this. He saw the way she looked at Legolas that she was more than just an ordinary captain. Sorrow radiated off her _súlë_ like heat off a candle and it seemed she would find comfort with Legolas. He sighed again and turned back towards the king's chamber.

He would have to take the blame for this one.

oOo

Thranduil watched hollowly as she re-entered the room with a timid nod of respect.

Estel immediately glued himself to Elladan's side; he was growing increasingly uncomfortable, for his attempts to sink into the walls failed and he was left uncertainly in the corner.

Tauriel stared straight ahead as she traversed the space and peeked into the bedchamber. She avoided Elrond's gaze and perched herself on the edge of the bed. Legolas felt the bed give and opened his eyes, blinking the glaze of sleep from them.

Then, more so to Elrond's surprise, he smiled.

"Tauriel," he rasped.

Her eyes immediately lit up and she smiled back. It seemed Legolas was the only one who didn't give her the label of criminal.

Elrond gazed at them softly and decided they would be alright alone. It was going to be Thranduil's turn to be displeased with him after this.

Legolas began to move over, but Tauriel clasped his arm, indicating for him to still his movements. The pain he was in was clear in the tightness of his jaw and brow.

She had caught a glimpse of his badly marred skin under the coverlet and her heart wept. If only she hadn't been crumpled by the enemy’s threats. If only she had been cleverer. If only she could know if the chance she took was really worth it or if it was all another miserable lie.

Legolas could feel the pain inside her as it churned turbulently, locked inside her aching chest; he could see it in the way her Light flickered and cast shadows under her eyes. His heart wept for her as well.

Things such as bruises and wounds of the flesh were not complicated to him. They did not have unexplained origin, they did not douse the sparkle in one’s eye, nor did they wound the _súlë_ the way a loss did. That was much more complex; such an uncertain bargain, a wavering foundation.

He knew the ache she felt inside; the hollowness of the chest where you were supposed to feel full. It shriveled the wells of your very being that you drew out of to keep on another day and it was tiring. _Oh_ so tiring.

He hated that she was hurting. But most of all he hated that had he chosen differently, he could have spared her that pain.

Perhaps had he been there to lead his people, he could have prevented it all. Perhaps had he not gotten caught in the first place, the _Edain_ would have refrained from attacking until they could have more time to be prepared.

Perhaps. Oh, it was such an uncertain thing. Uncertain like the wild balking of his _súlë_. _You have to see!_ it hissed excitedly, thrumming through his heart and bringing unrest to his limbs. _You have to do, try, go, mingle!_

Sometimes he wished he had not Silvan blood. If only he had been born a pure Sinda without this unsatisfied whirling pestering him inside. Urging him to break the walls of duty.

He did not begrudge his mother’s lineage, but couldn’t help but wonder if things would be easier for him had the leisurely nature and inner peace of a Sinda.

And yet it was not so.

But any such figment of that wild nature—that bit of freedom to breathe for once—caused all this. Caused that accursed aching void to one who did not deserve it.

Grief brought along such a bout of that uncertainty and Legolas would begrudge no one’s freedom from its pestering ties.

_If only..._

"Tauriel," he breathed with an ache to his own chest.

"Ah, Legolas I am so sorry to have caused you such distress," her eyes shone with tears as she gently traced the cut on the underside of his jaw made by Gindorelle's blade. He pulled away and swallowed, gathering himself to form coherent words.

Tauriel touched his chin in a silent plead for him to look at her. He turned towards her, a lone tear sliding over his cheek. She opened her mouth to speak, but Legolas beat her to it.

"_Saes_, if you can ever find it in your heart, _goheno nin_," his voice was quiet, vulnerable, like a small child.

Tauriel was taken aback.

"No, no, no, _Legolas_," her voice cracked and she cupped his face and caught an unspilt tear with her thumb when he looked away. "You have nothing to answer for. Ever have you shown me kindness and a brother’s love and I am the cause of such pain in return.” She huffed at an attempt of a laugh. A tear dropped free of her lashes. “I cannot imagine that bruises are a favorable remuneration for all you’ve done.”

He offered a shaky smile. _Ah, but that is just the pain of the flesh. The wound I have not warded from you is much deeper._

“I have done nothing favorable. Quite the opposite. I wasn’t even _there_, Tauriel. I did _nothing_." His voice had a hard, accusatory edge to it, but it was directed to himself and not her. She mused if the relief she felt of this fact was selfish on her part.

"Oh, Legolas, _no_," she breathed, and clasped his hand, resting her forehead on it. If only I could tell him; if only he knew. Fate was cruel to let him think this way and forbid him with providing any kind of reassurance that would impact him at all.

"I don't blame you for that—for anything!”

He took a deep breath to school his emotions wiped his face.

"But you blame Thranduil."

Tauriel froze. She couldn't deny him. Partly, because perhaps she did blame him, just a bit. And partly because she could disclose no information of this matter on the pain of death. Not _her_ death, mind you.

Uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

“Know that I blame you for nothing,” he reassured. Her heart sagged in relief.

Movement caught the corner of the golden _ellon’s_ eye.

Legolas spotted a small dark head from the corner of his eye, but it was blocked as Tauriel embraced him best she could, carefully minding his sore middle.

He did not see as the dark-haired human poured poison into Elrond's wine glass. He did not see as the figure seemingly melted into the wall.

No one saw that there was in fact a small opening in the wall that the figure slipped into, beckoned by a handsome, golden-haired elf, as he pulled the opening shut.

The passage remained hidden, as the panel slid soundlessly and seamlessly back into the wall.

The golden-haired one continued to watch, unseen.

This had gone far enough. He would see to it that that Noldo Lord would pay for his oblivious meddling. He scowled. It wasn't all the Noldo's fault. The one called Greenleaf was still pressing the Plan's buttons, even unintentionally. But he couldn't do anything more about him now. Gindorelle himself had already disabled him for a time, and that was all he could do. Greenleaf was too forgiving, had too kind a heart to work as well as his father did.

Tauriel pulled away and Legolas immediately looked around the room. He was sure he had just seen Estel a minute ago. But that's impossible, Estel was arrested.

"Estel?" he said.

"The human?" asked Tauriel, and continued with a nod from Legolas. "He was released by Lord Elrond when I was."

Tauriel was shaken from her stupor as she noticed Legolas fidgeting under her touch and caught sight of Lord Elrond standing in the doorway. The healer reentered the room, Elrohir bearing herbs at his heels.

Legolas watched absently as Elrond began mixing up the salve. His eyelids felt like they weighed a ton and he subtly drifted off to sleep.

Elrohir sat on a stool on the edge of the bed and gave her an all-business-like look as he rolled up his sleeves. She understood. Tauriel smiled and brushed his golden tresses from Legolas' forehead and kissed his brow, before rising to meet Elladan who was already waiting at the doorway for her. Elladan gently took her arm again and escorted her back to her room.

Elrond smiled as he worked. He had not missed Tauriel's interaction with the young Sinda. Her once dull eyes now held a small light in them. Legolas had given her a hope, it seemed.

The elven lord looked fondly at the sleeping elf as he stirred the salve. It seemed he was filling the protective big brother role quite well. This one had much light in his heart that he found easy to share with others. Like his mother.

Elrohir had already removed the coverlet and was unrolling a length of bandages, accustomed to the procedure. He wrinkled his nose.

"It looks bad," said Elrohir.

Elrond nodded and proceeded to apply the salve to the affected areas, which was, pretty much, his whole torso. Elrohir wrapped on the bandages.

Silence stretched between them and Elrohir looked up to his father's face, noticing the familiar brooding look he bore. He decided to try not to disturb his _adar_, but grew uncomfortably bored.

He glanced at the wine glass on the night stand and held it up in a silent question to Elrond. The healer nodded absentmindedly and Elrohir took a long draft of the wine, slightly sputtering, for he had forgotten just how strong Dorwinion was. He licked his lips contentedly and continued to drain the entire glass.

An unfriendly pair of eyes watched the young lord drink the spiked wine. Well, it hadn't worked out the way he hoped, but maybe this would do.

oOo

"That's absurd," said Thranduil.

"Yes, but it may be our only option, as we have been discussing," returned Galion.

Feren sighed. "And yet that does not cure the problem of the siege. That must be taken care of before any of these other things. Perhaps Lord Elrond has some ideas. We lack a fresh mind," Feren said as Elrond edged out of the bedchamber and clicked the door shut behind him, a twin in tow.

Feren was convinced that the only way to tell the twins apart would be if one had a cut or something of that nature on his face, while the other did not.

The fact that they always wore the exact same outfits everyday didn't help much. Feren could just imagine them gathered around one of their wardrobes at night, planning what would be the appropriate attire for the next day's mischief.

Thranduil rose to enter and Elrond held up a hand to stop him. "He's asleep."

The Elvenking sighed and sat back down, rubbing his temples.

"Well, I am rather wearied, and I believe it would be best to continue this discussion on the morrow," said Elrond, taking into account the tired faces of everyone present and the diminishing mood.

Galion rose from his seat followed by Feren. "Yes, we are going to need to rest our eyes before we greet the glorious stack of paperwork in the morning," said Galion with a pointed look at Thranduil who shot him a withering look.

Elrond brushed past the secretary, discreetly pushing something into his hand. The elven lord continued out of the room without a backwards glance.

Galion's hand tightened around the herbs in his hand. The smell unmistakably classified them as the basic ingredients for a sleeping draught, though it was faint Galion alone was able to smell it.

Naturally, he planted the mixture in Thranduil’s glass, barely hiding a smug grin as said subject drained the glass a second later, already struggling to stifle a yawn.

Galion's opinion of Lord Elrond had only increased as they spent more time in each other's company.

Elrohir rescued Estel from where he had been shoved in the corner after Elladan's departure. The _Imladris_ company left the room, leaving Thranduil alone with Feren and Galion.

Feren watched, bemused, as the Sinda failed to conceal yet another yawn. He glanced furtively at Galion whose eyes held a triumphant sparkle. Feren shook his head and pushed his tired friend into the bedchamber with a sleeping Legolas and hardly a muffled complaint.

Feren then closed the door after extinguishing the lamps, and followed Galion out of the room, satisfied with their combined handiwork.

oOo

Elrond closed the door behind Elladan and Estel, and sighed deeply.

"I hope this isn't a regular day here," said Elladan.

"Me too," Estel agreed. "I do not ever wish to be arrested again." He suddenly sobered. "Would I still have to go back?" He had not recalled Elrond had let him free under any kind of order. He suddenly paled as he realized his adar had worked against the king by letting him and the other elleth, Tauriel, free.

Elrond set his lips in a tight line. "I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are not. Though it is still a very likely possibility."

Elrond hated to admit it but there were very little things that were '_in his power_' at the moment. But his words had seemed to reassure the young human considerably, and that was all Elrond could do for now.

Elladan plopped onto the bed with a noisy exhale. "We might have to switch rooms, _ada_. I do not think my body is willing to get up."

Estel brightened. "Then I get 'Ro's room! I have my own but its all the way on the other side of the hall, and these three are all connected," he observed. "Where is 'Ro anyways?"

Elrond smiled and sat on the bed next to his eldest, and Estel nestled himself on a soft rug on the floor and leaned against the frame.

"He mentioned going down to see if the Eagle is comfortable. He has taken quite a liking to it after he found it. None of us had seen one this close before, and especially not one so young."

"Oh that's right!" Aragorn exclaimed, "I do wish to see it, but perhaps in the morning—" His statement concluded with a face-splitting yawn.

"Then off to bed with you!" said Elladan, not moving from his reclined position on the bed.

Estel retreated out of the door.

“And make sure to use your own clothes this time! 'Ro said you messed up his baggage last time you '_borrowed_' one of his tunics," he called after his foster-brother, and immediately clamped his hand over his mouth as Elrond sushed him harshly.

oOo

Elrohir wandered along the winding halls of the palace, sometimes stopping at a northern window to gaze at the looming, mysterious shapes of the Mountains of Mirkwood.

He walked at a leisurely pace and stopped once again to inspect one of the many skillfully woven tapestries that adorned either side of the hallways.

He studied the magnificent shapes and was intrigued by the way the weaver had used different texture to make the great battle woven into it come to life. Leaning closer, he scrutinized the subject of the tapestry; a tall, stout ellon with flowing silver hair, fierce eyes, sword lifted, and lips parted in a cry of victory over a smoking battlefield.

The young Noldo couldn't help but wonder who this impressive commander was. Or maybe even king, for he held his bearings as such.

He blinked hard as the picture suddenly blurred and shifted beneath his gaze, but only momentarily.

So engrossed was Elrohir in his studies, that he failed to notice the young chestnut-haired elfling behind him until the little one tapped on his stooped shoulder.

The young lord started violently, knife in hand faster than one could blink, causing the child to stumble back with a cry. Realizing his mistake, he sheathed the weapon, dropping to his knees to not further intimidate the little Silvan elfling.

"I'm sorry, _penneth_, I did not mean to frighten you. I thought you were...someone else," Elrohir said. The thought of Gindorelle prowling around these halls had not helped calm his nerves.

The child looked him up and down—more up than down, for Elrohir was nearly double the elfling's height—with a very critical expression, wrinkling his small, upturned nose in the process. Elrohir raised his eyebrow in amusement, much in the fashion of his father.

"That's alright," the elfling conceded, then cocked his small head to the side, shiny hair slipping over a slender shoulder as he did so. "You are not from Greenwood."

Elrohir was surprised at the elfling's heightened awareness, and mindful that he still used the name 'Greenwood' over 'Mirkwood' that was quickly becoming the more widely recognized name.

"That's right," he smiled, rising off his haunches back to his feet. He did this slowly as another wave of dizziness swept over him. He frowned and made a mental note to mention it to his _ada_ later. "I come from _Imladris_; Rivendell it is also called."

The child smiled back and nodded politely in recognition. Once again, Elrohir was surprised by his high level of maturity that was promoted by his diplomatic expression and guarded, wary eyes that mismatched his small form and young face.

The child remained silent and Elrohir prodded the conversation, "My name is Elrohir, though my brothers sometimes call me 'Ro."

The elfling giggled, a light flush dusting his cheeks, his nose and eyes crinkling up.

"That's a funny name. My names' Helgilion, but everyone calls me 'Gili." Helgilion had decided this dark-haired elf with the funny name was not a danger, and there would be no harm in exchanging names. Besides, he could hear his father's indiscernibly light footsteps approaching.

Said _ellon_ strode silently up to his son, slightly edging himself between the child and the stranger. There was no taking chances with anyone when it came to his boy. Elrohir stepped back, noticing the gesture and inclined his head respectfully.

"General Haldaner, son of Haladel of _Eryn Galen,_" the _ellon_ recited formally. His deep voice was smooth and rich, and could most probably increase to a great volume, as was expected of any kind of ordering officer when calling out instructions in the din of a battle. The _ellon's_ arm was held in a sling, braced, and thickly swathed in bandages.

Haldaner assessed the young elf. The dark hair, grey eyes, and silver-threaded navy blue robes screamed Noldo. Though he was perhaps a few millennia past his majority, the ellon might still be in training, though the practiced eyes of the Silvan warrior could tell he was an accomplished fighter by the way he held himself and remained alert.

Elrohir smiled in return. "Elrohir, son of Elrond of _Imladris_." His knees began to shake and his eyelids were heavy.

The general relaxed at the title and deftly stepped back.

"May I be of service to you, _Hir_ Elrohir?" He hoped the sarcasm attached to formality was only present in his mind.

It was a gracious notion and Elrohir was glad for it. "Well, I was on my way to the stables, but I seem to have lost my way," he said truthfully.

"Oh! I can show you the way! I was just on my way there, 'cause I'm a stable-boy and forgot to do something," Helgilion finished sheepishly, as if embarrassed. "_Ada_ says I can't be a warrior yet, 'cause I'm too young."

And Elrohir would agree. Helgilion looked like he had a good few decades ahead of him until he reached his majority, which was when elfling usually begin to learn to handle weapons.

"Your _ada_ is wise. You do not want to grow up too quickly, _penneth_. You have an eternity ahead of you to be an adult, so enjoy it while you can," Elrohir said with a wistful smile. He doubted this would be true for this young one, especially in the Greenwood. He had heard rumors of dark things festering beneath the boughs of the wood.

Haldaner noticed the notion and was grateful for the young Noldo's words. His respect for the youth lord inched upwards.

"It's because, ‘Gili," he corrected.

"Yeah, because, sorry. I mean yes," the elfling quickly corrected himself with a stern but kind glance from his father.

"I would be glad for your help, Helgilion," Elrohir said and extended his hand.

"Alright, go along, but come right back to bed once you've showed Lord Elrohir to the stables."

It was only then that Elrohir noticed that Helgilion was indeed dressed in a sleeping tunic, and that it was, in fact, nearly in the middle of the night.

"Yes _ada_."

And with that, they departed.

As the pair made their way along the passages, Elrohir became increasingly worried as he felt unnaturally fatigued and violent dizzy spells came over him often. He even had to pause to lean against the wall, but Helgilion did not even seem to notice, for he was engrossed in telling his new friend how he had pranked his older sister, and then it all backfired.

Elrohir would have enjoyed listening to the _penneth's_ story, and would have even shared his own experiences in similar situations, but he found it very difficult to focus on anything else than staying upright and putting one foot in front of the other.

Helgilion abruptly ended his story and turned to Elrohir.

"We're almost there!" he said excitedly, then frowned. Elrohir had stopped in his tracks and was rubbing his temples. His eyes were glazed over and he was far too pale. He swayed dangerously on his feet and Helgilion cried out and rushed over to the _ellon_, but not before the hound lord had collapsed into a boneless heap on the floor.

Eyes wide, Helgilion slid to his knees next to his unconscious friend and turned him over to find his eyes closed and a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He shot to his feet and ran down the hall. "Help! _Ada_! Help!"

Not soon after, a very stern Haldaner sprinted into view, his sword drawn and eyes flashing. He should have known not to leave his son alone with a Noldo!

His fears were soon relieved when his beautiful ion ran into him, literally. Words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush, all smothered together by rapid pants.

"Slowly, ‘Gili! Are you alright? Has he hurt you?"

"I'm fine, _ada_! But 'Ro just passed out!"

This garnered a violent reaction from Haldaner and he quickly took off after his son, sheathing his sword with practiced ease. Helgilion slid to a stop next to Elrohir, laying on the ground. His dark hair pooled beside his head on the flagstones.

"What happened?!" Haldaner breathed, taking the Noldo's pulse. It was fast and erratic. Haldaner was no healer, but he knew that was definitely not normal.

"I don't know, _ada_! He seemed fine, and then he just... fell over!" The elfling paused for a moment. "Well, maybe he was walking a little slow but I didn't think anything of it," his tone was guilty, exposing his thoughts.

"It's alright, _ion_. You did nothing wrong. You were right to seek aid as soon as possible."

Haldaner eased the limp elf into his arms as best he could with one of them being injured and in a sling, and started down the passageway in the direction they had first met the young lord.

Master Healer Filendis was carrying a tray laden with dried herbs from the store-rooms when he emerged into the hallway, and it took all his skill not to let the tray clatter to the floor at the sight of a young elf in uncanny resemblance to Lord Elrond being carried by a very concerned General Haldaner, and his young son.

Filendis approached them swiftly and thrust the tray and stern orders to a bewildered servant passing by.

"I believe Lord Elrond would wish to see him at once," Haldaner said.

"Yes, yes, right this way!"

oOo

A knock on the door roused Estel from his dozing and twisted a tired sigh from Elrond, as well as a look from Elladan that clearly said 'Not this again.'

"Come in!"

The door flew open and Elrond froze. An earlier sight played over in his mind and it was returning a damaged Legolas to his father's room. Now he was on the reverse side of the scenario.

He did not like it one bit.

oOoOoOo


	19. Warnings of Shadow

Chapter 19~ Warnings of Shadow

Filendis was puzzled. This was the third time he was seeing this, and that hadn't meant anything good in the past when it had been thwarted in its duty.

"Is everything well? You look thoughtful, Master Healer," Elrond said, brow furrowed.

Filendis chuckled internally. Here stood perhaps the greatest Healer in Middle-earth asking him if everything was alright with his son.

"He will be alright. I'm only... puzzled."

"How so?"

Aragorn and Elladan had stubbornly refused to retire to their own rooms and leave their _muindor_, so they lay wandering in the land of slumber on the couch, extinguishing the previous day's taxing stress and the general tenseness of the Realm's situation.

"Both my lords, Thranduil and Legolas, had the foul substance in their blood when they returned from, erm, retrieving the _ernil_ from the _Edain_ rebels... I have seen it before that in Legolas, after a separate run-in with some _Edain_, and we were able to make the antidote. I was merely confused what our enemies would have against _Hir_ Elrohir." He kept the more foreboding thought to himself for a few beats more before revealing himself. "And who would know how to get inside the palace? We have changed the patrolling times of different parts of the stronghold and that information is known only by the Council."

"Thranduil had mentioned an advisor, Ausocitin? I believe. Perhaps—" But Filendis was already shaking his head.

"He was stripped of his title. We know naught of his whereabouts."

Elrond was silent for a few moments before cutting his thought process short. He knew far too little to know how to help.

"So about this poison. Is it of the Shadow?"

There were several different kinds of poisons. The Shadowed ones, such as Morgul poison, were infused with the evil Darkness. Somewhat like the Shadow that was creeping up in the Greenwood, bringing orcs, wargs, spiders and other foul things into the forest. The Shadowed poisons did not only physically harm the prey, but also tainted their Light. A Shadowed poison left unchecked could become a despicable threat to the _súlë_ as well.

To heal someone from the taint, one had to delve inside the other's Light and draw the Shadow out. Other poisons' danger levels and purposes varied to the preferences and effects of the maker.

Shadowed poison was sometimes used by orcs, but not all the time; it was difficult to obtain, and terrible to experience.

"No. I do believe it was made to simply weaken the target and take them into unconsciousness," said Filendis.

"Is there anything specific I need to do or expect when he wakes?"

"Have him drink more water than usual, and let him rest. He may have a headache and will feel ill, but other than that I do not believe there will be any problems," he flashed Elrond another reassuring smile. "We are fortunate _Hir_ Elrohir wasn't in any situation that caused physical exertion when the drug took over his senses," he paused to huff out a quiet laugh. "I do not want another experience as I had when Legolas was waking. By the _stars_ he kicks hard!"

The comment had its desired effect and Elrond elicited a small chuckle. He gazed down at his son's motionless form on the bed and caressed his cheek lovingly.

Filendis smiled softly, glad the young lord was going to be alright. He slowly backed away from the bed towards the door, his smile still in place as he watched the elven lord place a kiss on each of his sons' brow before pulling the covers up to their chins and making sure the two splayed on the couches were comfortable. He looked back at Filendis who was already easing the door open, and gave him a look of pure warmth that was easily translated into a sincere 'thank you'.

The Master Healer's heart swelled as he closed the door after removing himself from the room.

He had always admired the elf lord for his excellence in the field of healing, but now he came to appreciate him some more as just a regular elf, who loved his family with all his heart.

Filendis smiled at the thought of a family. His own wife and children were probably wondering where he was. He could close his eyes and imagine his beautiful little boy and girl tucked into bed with their mother's gentle hands and loving smile telling them they would see their ada in the morning.

Ever since he had taken on the job as Master Healer and the Head Healer for the Royals, he made himself more scarce at home. But he enjoyed his job, and he was getting a good pay so that his wife wouldn't have to work and could stay home to raise the children.

A small tug on his tunic garnered his attention and he looked down into the hopeful eyes of Helgilion and General Haldaner. It made the General look every bit as young as he actually was. Filendis himself was unusually young for his position. The growing darkness was stealing more and more with each passing day.

"He will be alright," Filendis said. Relief washed over their faces and Haldaner took hold of his son's small hand.

"I'm glad," piped Helgilion.

"And I as well. We best be off, 'Gili. We wouldn't want to keep Nestael worrying over us," said Haldaner.

Helgilion giggled, but was interrupted with a yawn. "It sounds funny when you call _naneth_ that. Her name is _nana_!"

Filendis smiled at the young one's antics, eager himself to go home to his family. "Me as well, General. Farewell!" He saluted the warrior and turned to go.

"Farewell."

The last thing Elrond heard before dropping into slumber while holding Elrohir was Helgilion's light voice: "I will visit my new friend 'Ro tomorrow when he's better. He has a funny name, doesn't he _ada_?"

oOo

_Legolas awoke to the beating of hoofbeats. He eased himself upright, brushing his hands along the soft strings of grass that weaved around him as the floral breeze whispered between the strands and toyed with the loose golden stands of his hair._

_Trees surrounded him in the little glade, their leaves dancing in excitement and golden sunlight shifting between them like the twisting sparkle of a million emeralds._

_The air was sweet, and the aura mesmerizingly calm._

_The dull, steady beats quickened and became louder as great vines suddenly broke from the dirt near him and slithered through the wailing grass like a viper after a fallen nest. The vines circled the elf, growing thicker and black, beady eyes glaring unblinkingly. He found himself staring. Staring into their black, churning depths. Their green bodies writhed behind them, squirming to get closer and twisting their long bodies around each other._

_The tranquillity diminished, the elf's senses screamed at him, but he couldn't move. Couldn't even blink. Closer and closer the vine-snakes creeped on their prey, winding around his torso and up to his neck. He tried to scream, but couldn't move; couldn't blink. The snakes squeezed, squeezed tighter, wrestling him to the ground. He struggled desperately for his weapons, but they were gone._

_The beats pounded, louder and louder. And the serpents squeezed tighter and tighter. He found himself clawing at the ones around his neck, fighting for another sweet breath._

_His vision darkened. Thunderclouds rolled in, blotting out the sun. The magical lights ceased their dance and the trees withered around him._

_The hoofbeats stopped and a Shadow ate at the earth, at the trees, staring at the top and crawling across the ground, to him. And there stood amidst the last patch of light between the greyed trunks, a white stag._

_The beast lifted his head, proud and beautiful, intelligent silver eyes piercing everything around him. The creature's eyes settled on Legolas, calm and calculating; a whirlwind restrained. Muscles rippled beneath silver fur._

_The elf felt a shiver go down his spine despite the blackened edges of his vision and fading thrashing of his hysteria._

_The stag stepped into the darkened glade as the last light he was standing in was extinguished. A bright light exploded from him and he lowered his great head crowned with horns. The silver of his fur glowed like a star, and the serpents screeched in pain, the blackness of their eyes melting away._

_The stag charged. His sharpened horns tore through the great vines without effort, as he bellowed in rage. They curled around his legs, their black eyes seeping with hatred and thorn fangs bared and hissing furiously. They sank their fangs into his flesh repeatedly, but the stag was relentless, tearing, stabbing, stomping away, until every last one was gone._

_He stood in the clearing near Legolas, who was still sitting stunned in the grass. His great blood-stained sides heaved and his head lowered, nostrils flaring and tongue lolling as he gasped for breath. He looked towards the elf. Those big, despairing eyes pleaded what seemed a silent apology._

_The stag keeled over and hit the ground with a soft thud, the barren dust billowing around him as his shining glow faded with the soot. Legolas forced his leaden limbs to move and slid down next to the great stag, comforting him in his last breaths. The darkness of the air weighed down on like as if he was going to be crushed and the elf despaired with the great creature. The large, silver eyes turned on him with that silent apology before the light fled his eyes and his head fell into the dust with a ear-splitting crack as his antlers broke under the weight._

_Then an even deeper shadow overcame the land, and with it a chilling wave of fear of eyes on one's back. Legolas turned slowly on his haunches and looked up, just in time to see a great, hulking form in the trees. It blotted put the sun as it leaped to the trees on the edge of the glade and looked down at the two lone figures on the ground. Its massive eye glinted and he parted his powerful jaws, revealing a mouth full of knife-like teeth. Smooth as silk, shining as diamonds. Gloriously deadly._

_An overpowering smell of sulfur blew into Legolas' face from the beast's mouth and black smoke wafted lazily from its nostrils._

_Then in that moment, the fire unleashed._

oOo

Legolas jerked awake to find the 'snakes' were his father's arms wrapped loosely around him and the pounding hoofbeats were his heartbeat.

The Sinda slowly rose to a seated position, letting Thranduil's arms slide off him. His concern grew as his father didn't even flinch. Usually he would waken to someone approaching his room from the hall, which was past his room and private parlor. Legolas turned slowly and nearly reeled off the edge of the bed.

The entire left side of his face was gone, leaving only a few ligaments and that held the bare muscles to the bone, and what skin that was not gone was a deep, angry red color. The _ellon_ shuddered and shook his shoulder

"_Hir nin? Adar, saes_, wake up!"

His touch garnered a violent reaction and the king flinched away with a pained gasp.

Legolas turned him over onto his back and shook again. "Thranduil! _Adar, saes!"_

His brows furrowed and the rapid breaths quickly escalated to desperate gasps. Legolas panicked but a quick glance remunerated no water pitchers.

"Feren! Galion!" he called. _Ai, Elbereth._

Legolas looked back to Thranduil and hesitantly touched his marred cheek. This earned another gasp, and he sat up, eyes flying open, one of them that dreaded cloudy-white. He instinctively grabbed onto Legolas' forearm and then relaxed as he recognized his surroundings. Legolas couldn't help but stare.

Thranduil gazed back at his son, his gaze flickering worryingly over him. His face was burning again. The silence grew slightly uncomfortable and Legolas managed to croak,

"_Hir nin?_ Are you... you...?"

He continued to stare, every inch of the deformity burning into his memory. His mind ran wild and fear cascaded within him. His father had nightmares. Since elves were able to walk in dreams of their own choosing, nightmares only came from past traumas that darkened the _súlë_, much like Shadowed poison, only this kind of darkness was not completely of the Shadow. Or, it could be a vision within a dream; those were not always pleasant.

More questions raced through Legolas' mind. Perhaps that was why he had just experienced a nightmare. Or was his a vision as well...? It was not impossible for Eldar even without the gift of foresight to stand privy to certain things...

His eyes remained riveted through all his contemplation.

Thranduil suspiciously noted Legolas' stare and reached for the side of his face. To his horror, the illusion was undone. He desperately summoned the concealment to recover, to to no avail.

"Don't hide it from me, _adar_." Legolas' quiet voice made him freeze.

“‘Tis not an appropriate sight for an elfling.”

_I am not a child!_ his wild Silvan _súlë_ screamed, but he shoved it back down his throat with no little effort.

“Ever will I be an elfling in your eyes, _hir nin,_” he replied with a forced stoic-ness that made himself proud.

Thranduil huffed. “Do not call me that; it makes me feel inadequate,” he said with a tinge of flatness that marveled Legolas.

_Inadequate_??

Warding away his flurry of wild thoughts, the younger _ellon_ pursued, lightly touching his father’s chin in a silent request to meet his eyes.

“What befell you?” the young _ellon_ breathed, forcing the accustomed ‘_hir nin’_ that usually suffixed his sentences to dissipate.

Thranduil’s eyes darted about and he parted his lips, in conflict, before simply replying,

“Dragon.”

_Dragon?? Little do I know of my own father!_

His tone brokered no further discussion and Legolas did his best to keep any uncomfortable silences at bay.

“What did you dream of?”

An unsettling icy gaze suddenly weighted on him and he coxed himself not to react. That look from Thranduil usually meant he was catching on to something.

“A Shadow creeps up from the South... I feel it in the forest; in the Song.” His eyes had turned away and become distant, he was listening to _Arda_. “It is not the first time I have been warned of this in dream.”

Legolas supposed that had explained his dream as well with the chilling Shadow that had suddenly devoured anything. The devastation there had been terrifying and for the Greenwood to fall into such a drastic state seemed just a faraway dream— unattainable and impossible; a passing storm that you did not see.

To Thranduil's relief, hushed voices in the parlor followed by a noisy screech of furniture cut off the attentions from the current topic.

"He has most likely awakened!"

"He most likely is now with all your racket!" the other voice hissed. "_Valar_, Feren, do you even _know_ the meaning of the word '_quiet_'?!"

"His _Princeliness_ has never slept this late and Thranduil would wake to a flea’s belch three leagues away!"

"But this is different, you dimwit! They're both exhausted."

"Makes no difference! Ha! And I don't envy you the fact that it was _you_ who drugged him last night. I bet half my boot that he will skin you alive."

"Lord Elrond gave me the herbs! I merely put them in his wine! I'll blame it on Lord Elrond. Besides, you wouldn't let him skin me alive, will you, my _dear_ friend." Thranduil could just envision the look of mock-hurt on Galion's face.

"Watch me!"

"Oh, shut up. I bet him and Legolas are wide-awake and snickering to themselves as they listen to us bicker like elflings!"

"You're right, Galion, you truly do need to grow up." The pair entered just in time for the two occupants of the bed to see the glare Galion shot at Feren. "See! They're awake!"

Thranduil turned one of his own glares on the warrior and then shook his head in exasperation. Legolas observed quietly, his eyebrows threatening to become a part of his hairline.

The two quickly sobered at the scarred face. Galion lowered onto the bed beside Legolas.

"Feeling better?"

Now come to think of it, Legolas was feeling much better. A little too much better, he realized with suspicion.

Galion took notice of the golden _ellon’s_ sudden startled countenance and they swiftly eased his tunic over his head.

Many of the bruises had faded completely, and where his skin had previously been a dark red or violet from where he had received the worst hits where now a yellowish color. He turned his bewildered expression to the others in the room. Feren and Galion were equally shocked, but their gazes melted into glares as they regarded a very unsurprised Thranduil.

"I'll make up the draught," Galion quietly intervened. Feren continued to silently berate.

Realization hit Legolas. His father had healed him. Slowly, little by little, he had leaked his own energy into him. And had none left for himself. But yet, though Thranduil still looked drawn and tired, he looked far better than he had in a while, despite the gaping scar, of course. It was all rather puzzling.

"_Hannon lle,"_ replied Thranduil in a somewhat clipped tone. He then fixed Feren with a stare that clearly said '_not another word out of you.._.'. Feren backed off but couldn’t help toy with calling the Healer.

Galion worked in silence, bearing an uncertain expression that usually meant he wanted to say something.

"Is there something I should know of? Galion?" he paused when the secretary looked away and looked to the captain who had also sobered considerably. "Feren?"

"_Hir_ Elrohir was poisoned last night," Galion stated bluntly.

Thranduil froze in his reach for the goblet Galion was handing him and Legolas blanched. "Is he well?"

"Yes, thank the Valar it was only the new kind made by the _Edain_ that was inflicted on Legolas," said Galion.

"That is... disturbing—" Thranduil started.

Feren sensed the Elvenking's line of thought and filled them all in.

"We have doubled the patrols and altered the timing to be ultimately random. Only choice members of the Council itself knows the exact information." Thranduil opened his mouth to speak once more but once again, Galion caught on.

"Yes, everyone in the surrounding area that we know of have been evacuated to the stronghold."

There were other small towns and villages strewn through the forest but many had been forced to move further north away from the impending danger in the south. Because Greenwood was in a relative state of peace and winter was dawning, the army soldiers were scattered amongst their home towns, and therefore, the palace's occupants along with the Home Guard and Royal Guard had not been enough to withstand the hordes of _Edain_ that had stormed their gates.

In the stronghold's current situation, they were unable to send word to the other inhabitants for aid. Even if the other cities detected that something was amiss, it would most likely be from the lack of supplies that came in usually every month on the trading vessels or other such caravans, which weren’t due in another three weeks.

"And everyone has been assigned a task. Some of the younger children are helping the _elleth_ with the distribution of the necessary, while some of the older ones are helping with repairing the bows, making arrows, and minding other weapons. Everyone has settled down nicely. We merely have to decide our next course of action."

_Merely... right..._

"And the Home Guard? Do the Towers have anything to report?" said Thranduil.

"No, everything is quiet down below."

"The _Edain_ show no signs of pressing in?"

"None."

Thranduil looked up thoughtfully, when Legolas' small voice cut in.

"It was Gindorelle. I do not know how he got in or out, but it was definitely him. He was already in the dungeons when I came down." Legolas lowered his head. No one was supposed to know he had gone down. It was supposed to be a simple visit. It seemed nothing was going to be simple in times like these.

Everyone in the room nodded slowly.

"A golden-haired warrior had been mentioned and I had suspected," Thranduil said, the thoughtful expression never leaving his face.

He rose slowly, tentative of his previous feeling of exhilaration when the drug had kicked in and whisked the worst of the pain of his scars away, and allowing him to wind his illusion back up. It was true; he hadn't felt this good in years, despite his weariness and recently having another dream of the Shadow. It seemed his exhaustion had withdrawn his súlë from the essence of the forest for he could no longer feel it.

It was too good to be true, but was admittedly working perfectly with the schemes he had in mind for the day. He retrieved his cloak and swung it over his shoulders then bent down to strap on his sword-belt.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Feren rose in alarm.

"Leaving."

"To where? Why?" Galion stood to block the doorway.

Thranduil tapped his foot impatiently after pulling on his boots.

"Doesn’t it all seem odd to you? Does it seem strange that they took Legolas and demanded passage into the stronghold, and now they stand just within the grasp of their prize yet they do not take it? Has it not occurred to you that they could easily overpower us with their numbers and take the stronghold if that's what they want? No!" Thranduil responded with a sharp edge to his voice, answering his own question and not leaving anyone any room to speak.

"Don't you see? They're calling. They want something, and it isn't the stronghold, and we will never _know_ unless someone goes out there and _finds_ _out_! I will not give them the satisfaction of starving us out while we know nearly absolutely nothing of what they want and as we lie helpless to stop them!"

"So what are you going to do about it, Thranduil? Storm into their camp and demand to know what's going on?" Feren's voice had risen to Thranduil's volume and was trying to hamper him from gathering provisions. The Royal Guard would never let him leave, and he knew it.

Thranduil slung the pack over his shoulder and turned to storm out of the room, a feral quirk creeping across his lips and a dangerous glint in his eye.

"That's exactly what I plan to do." He pushed past Galion and flew out of the room.

The three remaining occupants of the room exchanged bewildered glances of disbelief.

"He's mad," Feren deduced.

The three of them tore out of the room after him.

oOoOoOo


	20. Beautiful Lie

Chapter 20~ Beautiful Lie

Tauriel paced around her room, occasionally stopping to press her ear against the door before deciding to wait just a little bit longer.

She had already made up her mind but the possibilities of what could happen if she did this—both good and bad—were seemingly endless.

But she was determined. She would not fail in her goal. Or else. Or else... what?

She shook her head vigorously and began stuffing things into her pack she had hidden under the mattress to kill her pondering.

Pack full, cloak on, and belt strapped, she pressed her ear to the door once more, just in case Elladan had decided to go the other way.

Hearing nothing, she crept to the window, unlocked it, and disappeared amongst the treetops under the cover of night, unbeknownst to the two small pairs of eyes that watched vigilantly from the wardrobe; the pairs of eyes that followed her out the window and into the night.

oOo

Thranduil locked his jaw and kept his smoldering eyes on his opponent. His hand subconsciously hovered near the hilt of his sword and he lowered slightly in a defensive stance, but only out of instinct. He wasn’t going to fight these enemies. Not like he could, anyways; outnumbered fifteen to one.

In fact, these weren’t enemies at all. Just the very nervous and uncomfortable regiment of the Royal Guard barring the way as their two leaders faced off. The big question was: which leader do they follow?

Feren cocked his hip and smirked, not at all perturbed and confident in his leadership.

Thranduil kept his flinty, unflinching glare fixed on the Captain of the Royal Guard. Sometimes he forgot Feren could be almost as stubborn and hardheaded as himself. Almost.

The Elvenking’s gaze remained hard, but a spark of knowing triumph shone in his eyes. One that Feren knew all too well.

Galion wearily shook his head and Legolas watched beside him, behind the face-off, blocking that route as well. It seemed a rather silly comparison that they had to chase Thranduil down and corner him like a wild thing. Perhaps that explained some of his son’s...mannerisms.

Thranduil seemed to greatly enjoy the fact that the soldiers were getting increasingly discouraged by the nearly pliable tenseness in the air. It was silent except the occasional clank or creak of armor as a soldier shifted their weight from one foot to another.

Legolas remained dumbstruck. This was a side of his father he had hardly ever seen before. Galion apparently had, he noted, by the way he kept shaking his head and muttering to himself something that sounded like: ‘He’s going to get away and it’s going to be all your fault, Feren; you blundering fool of a dimwit.’

Thranduil, probably weighing that there was enough uncertainty in the air for his liking, lifted his chin as another feral smile played across his face.

“Will you stand there all day or suffer your king to pass?” Thranduil said authoritatively. The soldiers shared uneasy glances and gulped. Thranduil didn’t particularly enjoy being the subject of his guards’ inspired fear, but sometimes he needed it to point their path in the direction he wanted to go.

Feren returned the smirk. His displeasure radiated off him, and he wore the expression dangerously. “No indeed _**aran **__**nin**__._ I will suffer no such thing,” the warrior replied, stressing the title to imply sarcasm.

The soldiers now exchanged horrified looks.

Thranduil arched one eyebrow and flicked his eyelids disdainfully, but gave no further indications that he recognized the insult.

“You cannot stop me, _Captain_. So I suggest you either accompany me or dare lend me passage in my own home.”

Feren pursed his lips at the barb but made no move to budge.

“I will not let you walk into your own demise. ‘Tis my job as captain and lifer to keep you from such.” His gaze softened minutely, and Thranduil recognized that Feren truly was worried for him. Whether because he thought Thranduil was risking his own safety, or had lost his mind, it mattered not to him.

The Sinda felt a small pang of sympathy for him—they probably thought he had truly gone mad—but it faded as quickly as it had come. Thranduil knew what he was doing.

Well, until he got outside of the stronghold, but he would cross that bridge when he approached it.

Thranduil squared his shoulders and stepped forward. The soldiers inched back, much to his grim amusement.

Feren stepped forwards as well, but with a small hesitation.

“You hesitate because you know you have not the right to restrain me,” Thranduil observed with an almost sad smile. “The duty of the Royal Guard is to protect their charges in whatever actions they decide to take. Not forbid them from doing such.” He then quirked an eyebrow and cocked his hip.

Feren scowled mightily. “You knew where you were going with that all along.”

The Sinda’s smirk widened, then turned his attention elsewhere. “Legolas, come. I will need your assistance."

Legolas turned bewildered eyes to Galion, not really believing what he had just heard. A wide-eyed but scowling glare from the secretary told him his ears had not indeed deceived him. He quickly rushed to his _adar's_ side. Thranduil whirled on his heel, passing through the parting live-elven barricade.

The Royal Guard trailed him and their captain stalked angrily to the front of the small procession as they left to exit the stronghold.

oOo

Filendis slid inside the door and clicked it shut behind him with a soft smile. He eased the cloak off his shoulders and set his bag of supplies near the door, approaching the hunched and blanketed back of his _meleth_ hovering near the fire in an oaken rocking chair Filendis had made for her for their hundredth anniversary.

He crossed the small space and dropped onto the sofa, also facing the fire. Helmeren smiled solemnly at him as he took her hands in his.

“Welcome home ‘Lendi,” she said. Her voice was strange, empty almost.

Filendis smiled, though his brows furrowed in slight consternation. “_Hannon lle._”

They stared at the fire, hands clasped in an almost tense silence, before it was broken by Helmeren.

“Did anything happen today? At work?” She knew Filendis enjoyed his job and never really considered it ‘work’. It was more like mothering over people and getting paid for it. She also knew he referred to his Royal charges with genuine fondness.

Filendis gave her an odd look and she added: “You seem to have a brooding demeanor today.”

The Master Healer frowned, the expression pulling at his smooth, naturally handsome features.

“_Hir_ Elrohir has been poisoned. Nothing serious,” he quickly reassured to wipe the look of horror off his wife’s face. “He will be well soon, though I feel apprehension prickling my spine and cannot help but feel I must always be on guard and looking over my shoulder. _Hirin_ Feren and Galion would not let me anywhere near the king or prince. I do not know why Thranduil even needs me sometimes, be it because of those two.” Filendis let out a dry laugh. Helmeren already knew about the... other happenings.

“Filendis,” Helmeren said suddenly, eyes clouded with grief.

His worry now peaked.

“Filendis, the children are gone,” she said slowly, quietly, deliberately as if she did not believe it herself.

He shot to his feet and burst through his childrens’ room, staring at mussed but vacant sheets with growing horror. The window stood open, the curtains flailing like a trapped bird in the darkness.

“Why did you not tell me of this before?!” he shouted.

His wife flinched and crumpled into a heap of sobs.

“Helmeren,” he gasped and slid to his knees beside her, taking her shuddering shoulders and wrapping them with his arms. Her tears dripped freely onto his tunic. She clung to him as if he were a life line and buried her face in his chest.

He smelled a pleasant mix of althelas and other herbs, as always. The familiar scent comforted her aching heart, and the smell of the herb calmed her frayed nerves, already taking action as it was drawn into her lungs.

Filendis rubbed his hand along Helmeren’s back in soothing circles, humming quietly and rocking back and forth.

A fire ignited in his eyes as his thoughts turned to the dark elf wandering the palace that had already done harm to perhaps the three most guarded elves in the entire stronghold. His anger at his children’s foolishness was quickly quenched with a wave of worry.

“Shh, shh we will find them, _meleth nin._ I will find them.” His eyes drifted across the room of the humble dwelling. His gaze settled on the chest in the corner. The one that held his nearly unused, but tended sword. Anyone who so much as touched a fine hair on his babies’ heads would pay.

Pay dearly.

oOo

“What to you think she’s doing _muindor_?” a small voice hissed in the darkness, huddling in the shadows of the trees as they trailed their quarry.

“_Ú-iston._ C’mon!” the other voice hissed back, following the bobbing glint of fiery red hair that stalked away along the ground. They bounded silently from tree to tree, then stopped again as the red-haired elleth took cover in the brush. They were rather far from the stronghold now.

The little _ellon_ looked back to the barely visible glimmering dot of light that was the palace.

“I don’t think we should keep going, Estella. _Ada’s_ probably home by now and worried sick,” Fararth whispered to his sister. “I don’t even care if she’s a traitor anymore, we should go back and tell someone who can do something about it.”

“And risk her doing something while were gone? No, _muindor_, we need to see who she’s working with.”

The figure below them moved and they followed from the tree-tops. It was a miracle she hadn’t detected them yet, really. So focused in her task, she was. She stopped again and so did her two shadows.

“Estella, _saes_. What if she’s not a traitor and we’ve just gone through all this trouble for nothing. _Nana_ and _ada_ will be furious, if they’re not already,” pleaded Fararth.

“Well then if she’s not a traitor why does she jump out of windows and skulk about in the forest like a criminal? You heard what the dark-haired _ellon_ said when he brought the her to the room before he locked her in. She was arrested by the King,” countered Estella.

“But— what if she’s— she’s uhh,” Fararth struggled, unable to compete with her logic.

Estella raised her brows challengingly, though her younger brother couldn’t see it in the inky blackness.

“She’s moving again. Let’s go.”

The two elflings continued on, hesitating when the _elleth_ nocked an arrow and crept more carefully to a ring of light in the trees beyond. Their hearts raced; Estella’s in excited anticipation of redeeming their kingdom, and Fararth’s in shaking fear; for he now understood the danger of their situation.

The duo of stalkers both jumped and clung to each other as the _elleth_ below them let out a gasp and wavered.

oOo

Tauriel peered into the fire circle beyond the trees and observed the people milling about. _Filthy humans._

Mysterious looking crates were being unloaded from large wagons pulled by heavy-duty draft horses and her mind reeled. It was hard enough to ride a horse in the forest with the close-packed trees, gorges, and thick underbrush, and even then the elves used their connection with the Song to move some of the live obstructions aside, allowing them to pass through easier and faster. How on _Arda_ did they get those giant wagons through here?! They were just a bunch of humans, but she doubted it was even possible to get those wagons through here with the sheer will of a hundred elves.

Her attention was turned to a group of men encircling the base of a tree, all hunched over. Their bodies were too closely packed to see what they were surrounding.

But then she heard it; a muffled cry of pain.

She swiftly nocked an arrow to her bow as a cursed deep-golden head came into view and began shouting to the men. They dispersed, many of them throwing venomous looks to the golden-haired one— Gindorelle of course— and others muttered oaths. Gindorelle crouched next to the base of the tree. As the last of the men trudged away and revealed the subject, Tauriel’s heart skipped a beat.

An _ellon_ sat drooping against ropes that bound him to the tree. His clothes were torn and disheveled, and a bloody bandage was wrapped carelessly around his head, mussing his mahogany hair. The captive lolled forward limply as Gindorelle probed his skull, scowling. It appeared this _ellon_ had just taken a rather nasty beating. The traitorous elf then lifted the _ellon’s_ head and checked his pupils, revealing a sickly, sharp-featured face. One Tauriel knew all-too-well.

She struggled to choke back her violent emotion but was unable to keep a gasp from escaping her lips.

Jaseric.

So it was true, her brother was alive.

Gindorelle turned sharply at the sound of a gasp from within the trees, then smiled and unsheathed his knife with a flourish. _Perfect_.

Jaseric lifted his head as his eyes widened. Black spots danced across his vision and he shrunk further back against the tree, willing the aches and bruises away.

Tauriel clenched her jaw and drew her bow, aiming it to the ex-General’s neck. Her hands trembled with wavering aim as she blinked back furious tears. _Stop_! one part of her mind screamed. _This is madness! If you shoot him now, there will be no hope of escape for the both of you! Your hopes will be dashed._

_But I want to see him dead_, the other part seethed. _To see his blood run._

Tauriel stopped herself. She was angry with Gindorelle, yes, but she had always been above such bloodlust; a terrible need for vengeance.

Gindorelle took his knife and drew the point across her brother’s cheekbone with a sneer. It was only a matter of time now...

Fire flared in the _elleth’s_ gut and she clenched her fists around her weapons.

Crimson trickled from Jaseric’s cheek, dripping off his jawline as if in slow motion. He shuddered. Watching it made Tauriel burn hot.

“Come, my dear. Why do you skulk in the shadows when your goal is yet so near?” Gindorelle saw the glint of red take a step forward and hesitate. “Come, now. You need not fear; we do not need anymore prisoners and I will not count you as such. Come! I feel your heartache for him all the way from here,” he prodded enticingly. His voice was smooth; compelling.

Tauriel, of course, didn’t trust any word that rolled off his forked tongue any more than she would entrust a fawn to a warg. Her well-being be darned, she couldn’t stand this any longer!

She burst into the clearing, pushing Gindorelle over and sliding down next to her brother. Tears spilled shamelessly from her eyes and she caressed his face.

“_Muindor nin_ I thought you dead! Look at me, look at me, so that I can see that you are well, _meleth_.” She took his chin in her hand and brushed the hair from his eyes. She bit her lip and smiled as he blinked and gripped her wrist.

“‘Tis too good to be true. Tauriel is not here. It is just a dream... just a dream,” he murmured as if in a daze.

“No! No, I am here, see? Oh, I’m here now.” She leaned forwards and embraced him best she could with his arms bound behind the thin tree. She let go when a shudder went through him and she lifted his face again in concern.

“_Muindor_? Oh!—“ He was crying. Tears tracked down his face, leaving small trails in the soot on his face.

“I never thought I’d see you again Tauri,” he whispered loud enough only for her ears. Even then she would’ve thought she had imagined it if she had not seen his lips move. It was like a light brush to her aching _súlë_, sewing it up and making it whole again. Her missing part.

She could barely believe it. How could this possibly be true? Her memory drew out the numerous times she had reached out to feel his _súlë_ with her own, seeking only barest brush of fingertips, the thinnest string; anything at all that gave her hope he might still be alive. And found none. She remembered Dorthion’s pained voice summoning her. She remembered seeing Jaseric’s lifeless body; the arrows in his chest. How did he survive? How did he end up here?

She reached to Jaseric and felt his chest, right above his heart where the arrows had been. But she felt nothing. No blood, no wound, not even a tear in his leather armor. Her mind buzzed and she pinched herself again. This was no dream.

“What is it Tauri?” Jaseric rasped, his voice still barely above a whisper.

She smiled at him though her brows were still furrowed in puzzlement. “It—“

“Well isn’t this a pretty picture,” Gindorelle’s silky voice cut into their reunion like lightning forking across the midnight sky.

Jaseric gave him a mighty scowl that would’ve made Thranduil proud. He looked dangerous even bound and injured as he was. And the thought was unsettling. It made more sense of to why the humans held such contempt for these creatures.

Bright, strong, supernatural almost, are they. Speaking in an unknown tongue, communicating with nature—the untamable—bending it to their will. Uncanny marksmen, silent as wraiths, lithe as cats, cunning as foxes, glowing like stars. Their eyes holding a reflection of their unnumbered years of life; their hands, the lives of many.

Their ways were seemingly out of a mortal’s comprehension. Powerful and beautiful, they were the Great, the Wise, the Unknown. And what is unknown is feared. What is unbreakable compels them to be broken; to be mastered over.

But in the back of the mortal’s mind they know this is impossible. And they fear. Yet they do not stop.

oOo

Estella gripped tighter onto Fararth’s hand, the whites of her wide eyes shining through the blanket of the night. He looked into her face, faintly illuminated by the fires between the trees; his expression mirroring that of his sister.

“Fararth,” Estella whispered, her voice barely audible to him. “I don’t think she’s a traitor at all.”

oOoOoOo

Meleth... love

U-iston... I don’t know

Hirin... Lords


	21. Dispute

Chapter 21~ Dispute

“Are you certain?” Thranduil asked, clasping his son’s arm and searching his face. This was a matter of upmost importance, and nothing said could be said idly or on a half whim. He had Legolas relay all that had happened during his capture and reveal any information that might help the small party approach one of the camps unseen and catch them unawares.

“Yes,” Legolas replied with a thoughtful look on his face, a small crease lining his brows as he struggled to recall every detail possible. “Like I said I was unconscious for a time, when a spider attack took place I gather, but I do not think anything much important happened then.”

“Were there any certain persons that may have seemed of suspicious character besides those you mentioned? Anyone who gave you special attention?” Feren said. He was still not taking this idea very well.

Galion was stroking one of his braids thoughtfully and the soldiers waited patiently; some even added in some suggestions, but most dared not to even move a muscle in the imposing presence of the Elvenking.

“Other than those who... cared for me, I cannot say— well,” Legolas started.

“Well what?” said Galion impatiently. They were all on edge as they stood right outside the palace gates, scheming how to get out of the stronghold and complete their task.

“There was a woman,” Legolas started. “She had a blaze of fire-red hair and eyes of bright green. She wouldn’t stop staring.”

“I doubt many of the Men had ever seen an elf, it is not all that odd that she had stared at you,” Thranduil reasoned.

“Yes but she was different. She looked not with fear or awe or curiosity, just as if she were waiting... the lingering gaze of a cat on a sparrow.” Legolas turned his wide eyes to skim over the faces of everyone present.

“There’s nothing we can do now, I suppose, except be on the lookout.” Feren turned to his soldiers. “You heard all the _ernil_; I expect your vigilance not to falter for half a second,” he pierced the small armored regiment with a serious stare, his eyes sliding from one soldier to the next as they saluted.

Saying he disagreed with this idea was an understatement. He knew knowing the motives of the enemy would greatly help their situation and give their intelligence group some more substantial information, but it still went against his every instinct. And once again, his charge had gone and taken the most dangerous position and he could do nothing about, not even accompany him. _Do you so despise my presence so, Thranduil? _

Galion turned to Thranduil. “And the plan is still relevant, I suppose?”

Thranduil looked up at him, his now organized thoughts marching through his head with clarity.

“It is.”

This better work, he chastised himself. He really hated to pull all these loyal soldiers into the fray with him, but he knew it would be impossible to part from them as long as Feren was their captain. _At least he’s doing his job_, he grumbled to himself.

Just as Thranduil opened his mouth to speak once again, a very flustered General Haldaner sprinted into their group, nearly toppling a few of the Royal Guard in the process of sliding to a stop. Master Healer Filendis and his wife, along with Haldaner’s elfling, Helgilion, were hot on his heels.

“_Goheno nin, hir nin_,” he panted.

“What is it, General?” Thranduil asked, clasping the warrior’s good arm to support him after an attempted staggering bow, and glancing between his three companions, who immediately bowed as well. Interest and concern sparked in the Elvenking as he spotted a sword hanging from a belt at the Master Healer’s side. Filendis never carried a sword.

“My children, _hir nin_, Fararth and Estella, they have gone missing,” Helmeren cut in before Haldaner had a chance to catch his breath. She clung to Filendis now, her shield of placidness shattered beneath her feet. She could hardly believe her own words.

Everyone’s eyes widened in alarm.

Helmeren rushed forward and clasped Thranduil’s hand, bowing her head as tears streamed down her cheeks. Words tumbled from her mouth.

“_Saes, aran nin_, I beg you let us go after them. I have discovered their absence minutes before Filendis arrived home, they could not have gone far. I thought they had been up to some cruel mischief, but never would have dreamt they would have wandered off. Oh, _saes_, we only seek permission, not to impose on—“

“Hush, dear one,” Thranduil said, a wave of pity washing through him as the elleth nearly melted before him. He was kneeling now. Filendis had rushed forward to his wife’s side.

“I will not hinder you in your search. Have you searched everywhere? The palace, the backways, the guards...?”

“Everywhere, _hir nin,_” Filendis said. His soft brown eyes were filled with anguish. “We fear their safety with the rouge elf skulking about and—“ he didn’t finish the thought.

“You fear they have wandered into the forest, or were taken,” Thranduil stated. Helmeren visibly blanched and re-glued herself to Filendis’ side.

The healer nodded.

“You both can accompany a group of us that will go into the forest,” the Sinda pointed out two warriors. “Stay with them at all times.”

Filendis nodded sincerely, his eyes flitting over both his charges’ injuries in an automatic check-up.

The king looked well, unusually well, and Legolas looked... in need of rest. He opened his mouth to protest the young ernil accompanying them, but a stern look from the Elvenking, who had read his thoughts, kept him silent. Filendis wondered why he was even permitting such a thing so soon after injury. His brows furrowed. That was not for him to decide. He would keep an eye on the young ellon at all times. Perhaps it was by some fortune that Filendis was coming with the party; though he dreaded the thought, he could not help but feel that his services might be needed.

“_Hannon lle, hir nin._ I cannot describe the gratitude in my heart,” Helmeren said with a watery smile.

Thranduil smiled at her and turned back to Legolas, but stopped at the sound of Haldaner’s voice.

“_Hir nin,_ there’s something else,” he said slowly. “It’s Tauriel. She’s gone.”

The Elvenking whirled around to face him, unsure how to react. He seemed to struggle within himself for a while before responding slowly.

“We can do nothing now,” he said. But a deep, cold fear lingered in the depths of his perception. She couldn’t be a traitor... could she? The facts were against her, and Thranduil had no anxiety left to dwell on them.

“Come, General, you can accompany Feren and Galion to the west.”

Feren started. It was not that he disliked the elleth, but it was once again trying his tolerance. He too, did not want to believe the unspoken assumption pitted against her, but could not deny the fact that there was not a shred of truth proving else wise. He would not—_could_ not shirk his duty—not again.

“We can do nothing, but we must keep a lookout for her and re-kennel this danger. She tried to kill you once, Thranduil, you cannot deny it. You have been lenient with her thus far, but we cannot ignore this forever. She did a grievous wrong, and must be punished for it,” said Feren seriously. “I will not have you out of my sight.”

Thranduil and Galion were rather taken aback by the bluntness and the publicity in which this thing was spoken. The soldiers shifted uneasily, sensing this new tension in the air.

“Do not speak of her like a wild dog! Everyone makes mistakes, Feren. She—“ Thranduil started, glancing at their audience uncomfortably. He usually kept his feelings well-hidden.

“One cannot ‘_accidentally_’ try to kill their king and guardian,” Feren bit back icily, interrupting him.

The king and secretary’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Galion put a hand on each of their shoulders and cut Thranduil off as he was about to speak.

“Not now, Feren,” Galion said quietly. He could feel Feren’s emotions buzzing through his hold on his arm.

“_Yes_ now, Galion! We must stop and think awhile! Our stronghold is under _siege_, our _k__ing_ was nearly _assassinated_, and our _prince_ was taken from us entirely!”

Legolas looked down to hide his shame.

“And now we are letting them wander right back into that Valar-forbidden nest so our enemies won’t have to go through the trouble of getting past our already dwindling defenses to slaughter the very ones we swore to protect!” Feren’s eyes blazed with energy and Thranduil watched him with a face devoid of emotion, his steely eyes biting into the ellon. “We have a duty here, Galion, an oath we swore, and even if that means nothing to you, I will _not_ abandon that duty!”

Pain raced through Galion’s heart. _He cannot mean that..._ Tears pricked the back of his eyes but he quickly blinked them away, edging closer to Thranduil and shooting apologetic glances to the elves gathered around them, who were barely dared to breathe.

“I am not some _clumsy half-wit_ that you need to trail around like a mother bear,“ Thranduil said coldly, irritably almost. A part of him screamed at him for being so rash and foolish.

That part of him winced as Galion stepped towards him, reeling from the captain’s words. That part of him pounded at his chest and yelled for him to at least try to understand.

But no.

_Is that what I am to you, Feren? A task, a burden, a bothersome weight on your conscience because you took an oath?_ His heart cried out in agony. Never before had Feren said such things concerning his position. _Would your heart truly rejoice at my demise?_ No, he could not believe it... yet it had spilled from his mouth easily enough.

Feren’s eyes narrowed. _So is that what I am to you, Thranduil? A pestilent fly buzzing at your shoulder; that which your life would be at ease if I was not present?_

“Very well then,” he said aloud. “Have it your way.”

_Go, corner yourself. Perhaps that will prove to you who I am to you since you refuse to see it yourself. _

The Sinda whirled on his heel and strode past them without a backwards glance.

Legolas flashed Helgilion a glance, wondering why the elfling was present. The chestnut haired elfling’s usually bright eyes flicked to look at his boots; he would not meet the _ernil’s_ gaze.

Legolas turned to follow his father, avoiding the silently pleading eyes of Galion and the hard ones of Feren.

Their plan required someone capable to enter the camp, for it was extremely difficult to get close to get to the actual clearing. The only guards posted were the ones on the north side of the camp, the side facing the stronghold, according to Legolas.

The capable one would have a run in with the guards and distract them, while the others would surround the camp and force them into surrender. Thranduil, of course had insisted on being the one entering the camp, saying it seemed logical the hot tempered king he was believed to be by the _Edain_ would become furious and storm out of the palace without his guards— Feren has reassured him that the _Edain_ weren’t the only ones that thought of Thranduil this way— and would come alone.

Legolas sighed. And he would be the backup distraction.

He plodded on, keeping his eyes fixed on his father’s back. He glanced back to where Helgilion has once been; but he was no longer there.

The icy bite of apprehension slithered down his spine and he gulped, refusing to look behind him.

oOo

Galion edged up to Feren, his brown eyes glistening and filled with hurt concealed with a layer of anxiousness.

“Feren, _why_?” he said in a small voice.

The captain hesitated as if looking for a response but then turned towards the gate. Galion came forward and put a tentative hand on the warrior’s shoulder.

Feren glanced at him and immediately wished he had not.

Galion looked like a small child with those large, brown, pleading eyes.

He walked faster, breaking from Galion’s touch. He would stay firm. This was not the first time the three of them had bickered over this very subject. _Keep to it, Feren,_ he chided himself.

oOo

Gindorelle scowled down at the two siblings at his feet. Jaseric had been untied and was now being maneuvered into a more comfortable position by his sister.

A voice rang out in the air, too high and reedy to be a Man’s. Gindorelle slightly rolled his eyes. Ausocitin was calling him.

He tried not to complain too much; Ausocitin was clever and eager to take action. But a good plan needs much time and thought and preparation and pretense. Something the ambitious young ex-general had no patience for, hence his current title. He stalked off to the main tent.

“I thought he would never leave,” Tauriel breathed into Jaseric’s ear. She had positioned his aching body so that they were sitting side by side and leaning on each other’s shoulders. Moving him had been torture for the both of them. A zing of pain and sheer fury tore through her heart with his every pained gasp.

Tauriel was trying to rub the feeling back into Jaseric’s throbbing hands after the circulation being cut off for so long. Her thumbs dug much too harshly into him, and he didn’t think she really knew what she was doing, but her very presence and comforting touch had let relief seep into his weary body.

_Comfort_, he chuckled humorlessly to himself. _I had almost forgotten what that felt like. Yet I longed for it so._

“What happened back there? I mean during the battle. _Aran_ Thranduil saw you fall. I saw your body. It was you, there’s no mistaking that. I do not understand how this is true,” Tauriel said, lessening the pressure she worked at his hands, much to his relief.

“I do not either, Tauri. I can only remember the _adan_; coming towards Thranduil. He did not see. I had to do something. He screamed as I threw my blade, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the arrow coming, but it was too late. It grazed me,” he traced a line through the bandages with his finger to indicate where his wound was. “I fell and remember nothing more. I woke here.”

Tauriel wrinkled her brow, but Jaseric’s slow speech and heart rate, and drooping eyelids told her that he was spent.

Noticing Tauriel’s expression Jaseric seized her kneading hands and gave them a squeeze.

“There is something else. Something else you should know of. It concerns the stronghold, I think. I have been watching and listening to the orders between the Men. I do not know what they plan but—“ The ellon wheezed mid-sentence, doubling over, and attempted to continue.

“Shh, later, _muindor_. You must gather your strength, for we do not know what the next day will bring,” Tauriel said.

Jaseric found not the energy to argue, and with one last protesting look, his head lolled to the side and he dropped off to sleep under the vigilance of his dear sister, leaving her mind to wander.

_What on Arda is going on?_

oOo

“Estella, look!”

Three _Edain_ dispersed into the trees, taking posts at the three corners of the camp facing north; cutting off their only exit.

Estella clung onto Fararth tighter.

“This is not good, _muindor_,” she whispered, barely loud enough for her brother’s ears. “Not good at all.”

oOoOoOo


	22. Sentries and Mysteries

Chapter 22~ Sentries and Mysteries

Helgilion crept amongst the trees, constantly peeking over his shoulder to assure himself no one was following him. He quickly scurried from the security of one shadowy bush to the next with a small flash of brown and hardly a sound; a feat that could be awed at by any other Noldor adult, but then of course Helgilion was a Silvan. That explained everything.

He suddenly froze and whirled around silently, easing the small knife he had hidden in his belt out of its scabbard. His hand, albeit little, held the leather-swathed hilt with practiced ease of one who knew how to use such a weapon. The darkness growing upon the forest had made sure of that. The young were not only stolen in battle physically, but in mind also as the captains had been forced to recruit younger and younger elves, the training giving them premature maturity in correspondence to their age; their childhoods cut short.

Helgilion peered through the foliage, attempting to pierce the heavy blackness of the night.

Something rustled above him, and his head shot up. He lowered himself slowly into a defensive stance and scowled. His opponent held the advantage, being higher up, but he didn’t let that deter him. He could not risk being followed.

Reason told him to run, that only an elf would skulk about in the trees so, but he had come thus far without alerting the adults, so he would take his chances.

The creature flashed down, seeing their opponent momentarily distracted in their thoughts, and landed on the elfling’s shoulders, immediately trying to wrestle the knife out of Helgilion’s clutches.

The chestnut-haired elfling let out a choked yelp as something heavy landed on his shoulders. He grappled with the being, both of them rolling over and over in a flurry of green and brown. Helgilion finally got a hold of the upper hand and straddled the being’s heaving chest, his knife-wrist held in a hand similar to his, and another small hand clutching the front of his tunic.

He kept a strong hold on his assailant and brushed the hair out of his eyes with his shoulder, immediately relaxing when he recognized his attacker.

In doing so, the other being took advantage of his relief and used it to reverse positions, leaving a squirming Helgilion to glare from his position flat on his back in the dirt and tap his foot impatiently.

“Get off, you miserable whelp,” Helgilion said crossly.

The other elfling—for that his what the other being was— laughed and rolled off the general’s son.

“Aren’t yuh happy to see me, Gili?”

Helgilion growled and let out a very dwarvish-sounding harrumph as he rose and sheathed his knife.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Minaitir chirped as he brushed past the other elfling and stopped at the base of a tree.

He, like Helgilion, had brown hair, just a shade darker. He also stood a few finger widths taller and had more oval-like features with a sharp nose and strong jawline complimented with deep eyes, a lanky frame, and thin lips that were often shaped in a crooked smile.

“Whatever you like,” Helgilion grumbled under his breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching under his cowl.

“Don’t you think we should take to the trees better? I was watchin’ from the tree line, and I think Lord Leg’las knows yer gone. He might come to look for us. ‘Sides, it’d be faster. I bet that’s what Estella and Fararth did,” Minaitir said, hurrying up to Helgilion who had continued to trudge through the underbrush.

“Lord Legolas wouldn’t waste his time on us. And I’m sure it doesn’t matter how Fararth and Estella got to where they are,” Helgilion answered with a curt undertone that was lost on the other elfling.

“I’ll bet you he’ll follow us, and then we’ll get caught and all this’ll be fer nothin’,” sulked Minaitir.

Helgilion gritted his teeth and stared ahead. His fellow stable hand was beginning to grate on his nerves.

“He won’t follow us,” he ground out.

“Mmm, you know what, yer right. We’ll see his golden Sindar hide a mile off, so’s we can hide easy,” he mused almost to himself, giving no indication that he was paying the slightest bit of attention to his parter. “N’ I ain’t scared o’ no Sindarin Princeling.”

At this Helgilion whirled on Minaitir. He was a strong patriot like his father.

“That’s disrespectful to the _ernil_!”

Minaitir looked mildly surprised at the outburst and snapped out of his reverie.

“Well no one’s here to hit me for it, so’s why do I have tuh worry?” He flashed Helgilion one of his signature crooked smiles.

Helgilion merely scowled at him in disapproval, then turned back to the road when the stormy expression had no effect on the obnoxious elfling.

They continued on in silence, both of the elflings now carefully on alert, until a yellow light peeked through the trees.

“Look, a light, ‘Gili,” whispered Minaitir with a nudge to the other elfling’s shoulder.

“I see it,” Helgilion responded tersely, biting back a sarcastic remark.

“I think it’s them humans,” Minaitir said, his voice even lower than before and a look of severe concentration on his face as he fingered his own small dagger. Helgilion nodded.

Helgilion knew that Minaitir often made the impression of being a tenacious clown with that lopsided smile of his—or a fool, as Helgilion would bluntly put it—but he wisely knew that he kept a ferocious fighter under that mask of indifference. He had some of the same combat classes as Minaitir, he’d seen the boy fight; and quite a scene it was.

To put it shortly, though the ellon sometimes irritated him to no end, (especially when deciding how to split the stable-work) Helgilion reserved a level of respect for the young elf.

It was Minaitir who snapped Helgilion out of his thoughts when he tightly gripped his arm, bringing him to an abrupt stop. Helgilion curiously looked up, knowing the importance of remaining silent.

Minaitir had his hazel eyes fixed on the now rather large spot of light that leaked into the trees beyond the source, illuminating figures trudging to and fro with laden arms.

Helgilion followed his gaze, then sharply looked back to his companion when he squeezed his arm tighter.

“Hide!” Minaitir whispered urgently, barely loud enough for Helgilion to hear even with his superior hearing.

They both shot into a tree without a sound as a human sentry trudged into view, his bearded face shadowed in a hood, and calloused hand gripping a sword hilt buckled at his waist.

“You hear something now Ashtan?” a gruff voice said accusingly.

“‘Course I don’t. If its one of them elves, you won’t hear a thing ‘til you find your throat leaking blood and your eyes going dark,” the other man, Ashtan supposedly, bit back.

“I’ll gut the skulking rat. I ain’t dying today,” the first one growled.

“Would you shut up, Daelitz? I thought I seen two of ‘em, and if I’m right we’re as good as dead,” Ashtan said.

That effectively silenced the other man, Daelitz, who proceeded to cautiously creep upon clumps of underbrush, move them aside, and crouch into a defensive position as if beckoning any elves out of hiding.

Minaitir and Helgilion’s hearts thudded wildly in their chests.

Ashtan, evidently the brighter of the two mortals, took to scanning the foliage above. Daelitz noticed this action and sidled up to Ashtan, leaning to his ear.

“They can climb up that?” he whispered hoarsely. Ashtan turned a glare out of the corner of his eye and nodded mutely, before returning to his search of the branches.

Unfortunately for the elflings, the leaves were not very dense at all and they had been unable to get and further up the tree as the two sentries approached, for they were bound to see moving figures and recognize them as elves faster than they would distorted eerie shapes looming over them. So the only things keeping the elflings hidden were their frozen postures and camouflaged clothing.

Helgilion shivered and pulled his hood farther over his head, turning to tell Minaitir to do the same, and gave a muted horrified gasp as he realized Minaitir did not have one.

The elfling’s glowing face was indeed the bane of their discovery.

“There!” Ashtan exclaimed, pointing to the exact location of the two elflings.

“Careful, they’ll shoot you!” Daelitz said, covering his head with his arms.

“If they wanted to shoot you, you would be dead, fool!” Ashtan paused as he looked closer at the two silent unmoving figures perched on the branches.

Minaitir’s glowing face was a mask of stoic fear.

“Why! They’re just little mites. Give me your bow and we’ll end this quickly.”

Helgilion could’ve sworn that his heart skipped a beat right then, his shaking hand fumbling for his knife. _Would it be okay to kill this human? _he wondered. He gulped. _Is it even possible? Will we come out if this alive? Ai, Elbereth. _

“Come down nice and easy and we won’t hurt yuh,” prompted Daelitz.

He handed the bow to Ashtan with slow, careful movements as if handling a lion cub.

Helgilion shot Minaitir a desperately terrified look as they clutched their respective knives.

“Easy now.” Ashtan had the bow nocked and was slowly drawing back.

Helgilion gave Minaitir a small nod.

The bow was now drawn completely back and aimed at the two elflings.

“Come now, let’s not do this the hard way.”

Then Minaitir jumped.

It all happened so fast it was hard to catch who had gotten the upper hand.

Minaitir was aiming for Ashtan’s shoulders, but the man had quickly sidestepped and slashed the end of the bow across the young elf’s stomach. It tore a jagged red line in his tunic and the elfling remained a stunned and panting ball on the ground.

Helgilion opened his mouth in a yell. But his throat constricted and cracked, letting out barely a tiny whimper.

A red tint crept up Minaitir’s face as he fingered the stinging skin across his middle.

He was angry.

His periphery vision detected Daelitz coming to grab him from behind. Ashtan had an arrow nocked and pointed at him.

Helgilion wouldn’t jump. Not until it was time.

Minaitir became a blur of motion. Still crouching, he bolted at Ashtan, the loosed arrow barely missing a solid spot to embed in his hunched shoulder, and thudding in the ground behind him. Daelitz let out a small cry of surprise and rushed forward to help Ashtan.

But it was too late.

Ashtan didn’t even have time to scream as a cloth was shoved between his teeth and he was wrenched to the ground by the knife in his leg.

Daelitz lunged for the elfling, but was suddenly thrown to the side as another blur of color slammed into his shoulder and set him off course.

He tumbled and swiftly rose to his feet to come face to face with Helgilion, a small knife clutched in his little hand.

Daelitz laughed. Helgilion scowled.

_You underestimate me._

And he lunged to his knees, hugging the man’s legs to bring him down. He was successful and brought the brute down, but not before the man was able to deliver a solid kick to his middle as he collapsed face down over the elfling.

Daelitz rose and unsheathed his dagger, his eyes blazing. _I’ll be darned if I let this little demon get away without regretting this!_

Daelitz hovered over the small heaving form on the ground and slashed recklessly with his weapon, only to have it parried away with a desperate swing of Helgilion’s knife. The elfling’s eyes were wide and he was gasping desperately for breath. The man wasn’t looking to capture him anymore; he was going to kill him.

Realization that he was fighting for his life struck Helgilion as he rolled out of the way of another powerful swing and felt it hit the dirt behind him. He absently wondered how Minaitir was doing. He had gotten the brighter one, after all.

Daelitz was reckless, all power and no strategy or control; a fatal flaw when fighting an elf; of any age, it seemed. So it was for Daelitz.

Slightly off balance from his flailing thrust, Helgilion gave the man a swift kick to his ankle, turning on his back in horror as Daelitz’s shadow fell on him, along with the body.

It was all Helgilion could do to save himself. He slammed his arm across the Man’s blade, earning a nasty cut on his forearm, but it kept the weapon from impaling him. He brought the knife to his chest, point up, just in time for the Man’s bulk to come crashing down and drive the knife into his heart with his own crushing weight.

Shaking, Helgilion rolled from under the Daelitz’s unmoving body and retrieved his knife, cleaning the blade on the Man’s rough clothes. His heart nearly jumped into his throat when he saw Minaitir’s struggle take a turn for the worse.

oOo

Tauriel’s head shot up as she heard a faint strangled cry from the northern side of the camp in the forest where the sentries were stationed.

She shot a quick glance at Gindorelle, hoping he didn’t notice and returned to cradling Jaseric in her arms and humming softly as he slept.

It was unlikely that someone would come to rescue them (or that anyone had even noticed her absence) but it never hurt to hope.

Unfortunately, Gindorelle’s elven hearing had never failed him, and it did not oblige to do so now. The ex-General swiftly unsheathed his long and elegantly curved elvish sword and stepped closer to the outer edge of the fire-ring.

What he saw surprised him. An elfling grappled with Daelitz in the dirt, the fool tumbling over the little being that hugged his legs.

Another movement caught his eyes. A different elfling tousled with Ashtan, the sentry’s movements restricted by the small knife hilt jutting out of his thigh.

He made a move to come forwards and put an end to the foolish tirade (What decent sentries got beaten by two underage children that were barely old enough to pick up a full sized sword?), but stopped as the elfling turned to face Gindorelle.

Familiarity struck the elfling’s features as he turned back to frantically parry a swing from his opponent.

A smile crept up Gindorelle’s face and he sheathed his sword.

_Not bad. Ion nin._

He turned back into the fire circle, Tauriel giving him an odd look when she noticed the strange smile still plastered on his face.

oOo

Ashtan was straddling Minaitir, viciously throwing punches at his face as the elfling futilely tried to deflect them. He bucked and arched his back with the energy of a wild thing, but the _adan_ was simply too heavy. Ashtan struck out with his hand again, but instead of delivering another clout as Minaitir expected, he grasped both of his wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head.

The man’s cry from Helgilion’s wrench on the knife in his leg was once again muted by another gag that was shoved in his mouth by Minaitir who had taken advantage in the lax of Ashtan’s attack with his fists.

Together, the elflings managed to push the _adan_ on the ground and bind him hand and foot with strips of cloth, then drag him under a clump of ferns.

“Should we take the knife out?” Helgilion whispered, motioning with his head to Ashtan.

“Nah, he might bleed out.” Minaitir had to refrain himself from adding ‘and die’. He saw the guilt on his companion’s face. “Hey, it’s alright. It was either him or you. You did all yuh could.” They were both still stunned front their respective fights.

Helgilion flashed him a grateful smile. “We should take to the trees now, I suppose.”

Minaitir couldn’t stop the wide grin that spread across his face. “I suppose we should.”

They quickly leaped into the nearest tree and traveled amongst the branches closer to the warm light flickering in the distance.

Minaitir stopped and reached out to grasp Helgilion’s arm once again.

“I think this is close enough, ‘Gili.”

“Hush, I found them.”

Sure enough, two small black lumps were perched on a rather high branch a few trees closer to the light.

A relieved look crossed Fararth’s face as Minaitir and Helgilion nestled themselves on a branch near them and Estella let out a barely audible sigh of relief.

“I knew you would come,” Fararth whispered cautiously.

Helgilion shot him a tight smile as the little _ellon’s_ face morphed into a frown when he took in the bloody rips in their clothes, but stayed quiet when the two elflings turned to observe the makeshift camp below.

Two red-haired elves sat together leaning against a tree, the elleth holding onto the bloody and disheveled-looking ellon as he slept.

Edain milled about everywhere, stacking strange wooden crates in one corner of the camp.

A deep-golden-haired _ellon_ stood near the red haired elves conversing with a nervous-looking olive-faced _adan_ who kept wringing his hands and stuttering over his sentences in his report to a stately-looking brown-haired _ellon_.

The brown haired _ellon_ spoke.

“I will repeat myself, _Jaen_. _Can_ you or can you _not_ make me look like Thranduil?”

“I-I’m not sure, my—my lord Ausocitin, it— it only worked with that one,” Jaen jabbed a knobby finger at Jaseric,” because we used—we used a dead body. I ain’t never tried it on a living—“

“You said you could use your dratted stinking vials and potions to cast the illusion on me, did you not?”

“Y-yessir.”

“You said you needed the blood and that it what I got you, did I not?”

“Yessir.”

“By saying that you are not able to make this work, you are going back on your word, are you not?”

“Well, ah, actually my lord, I never said I couldn’t—“

“_You are going back on your word to me, are you not?!”_

“Yes-sir.”

“I believe we have clearly demonstrated what happens to the miserable fools who defy me?”

“With all due respect, sir, I was not def—“

“_Did we not?!”_

“Y-Yessir.”

“Now. Will we have that illusion done in three days?”

Jaen hung his head and swallowed nervously. “Yessir.”

“Good.” Jaen bowed at the dismissal and hurried away.

Gindorelle was smiling with an almost crazed look in his eyes. “I admire your technique, _hir nin._”

“_Hannon lle,_ General.” Ausocitin paused and a thoughtful expression morphed into his features. “I do not think the good people of Mirkwood will like this new Thranduil.” The thoughtful expression turned sinister as he turned one of the black-powder vials over in his hands. “Not at all.”

oOo

Elrond held the small glass vial up to the moonlight streaming through one of the looming windows in one of the more secluded healing rooms.

He furrowed his brows in near disgust as he observed the small black grains squirming and tumbling over each other as if struggling to escape their glass confinement.

He had taken leave of the guest bedroom, leaving Estel to look after Elrohir as he slept and make sure he remained stable, as he went to examine the vial of strange black powder they had obtained from one of the _Edain_ rebel camps.

The vials that filled the large wooden crates. The vials that the mortals possessed aplenty. The vials that mayhap hold the future for the people of the stronghold, if not the whole Realm.

“Don’t you think more good will come of opening the bottle to have access to the stuff?” Elladan said with a wry smile.

Elrond shot his son a mirror of the smile. “I suppose so.”

Gingerly uncorking the vial, Elrond spilled a fair amount of the inky black grains onto a warped board with a small dip in the center. The harsh smell wafted out and assailed his nostrils and he abruptly stood up straight to further himself from the vile concoction. He sputtered slightly and couldn’t help but notice a familiar underlying scent under the overall harshness that assailed his heightened senses. He couldn’t bring himself to put a name to that vague familiarity.

Elladan wrinkled his nose in distaste. The shaft of light shining through the window allowed the young Noldo to see the faint cloud of grey dust that floated from the grains. Elrond coughed again but Elladan couldn’t step any closer. He found the powder extremely repulsive and found it rather difficult to restrain the urge to toss it out.

“It looks like smoke,” Elladan mused.

Smoke. That was it. The familiar smell was smoke, just seemingly many times amplified and much more repulsive for lack of a better word.

Elrond nodded and bent back down to examine it closer. He poked his finger in the middle of the small pile and began to twirl it around. He suddenly froze and pulled away, an odd expression on his face.

“What is it?” Elladan said with wrinkled brows as he stepped closer to look at the concoction.

“It feels evil.”

“What?”

“It is strange really, it is not very strong but it feels similar to the presence of orcs, except... muted. And with much more malice... it is difficult to describe.”

Elladan reached forward to touch the powder, but Elrond caught his wrist. Elladan turned questioning eyes to him.

“I do not know what it is yet and do not want you to be tainted with whatever this is I feel.” Elrond rubbed the finger he had touched the substance with. “It stings slightly,” he mused almost more to himself.

“I will not touch it,” said Elladan. He crouched in front of the table to come eye level with it and studied the grains from that angle. “Ada, look. It appears as if each of the grains are coated in this black substance. There seems to be something else inside.”

Elrond crouched down, and sure enough, some of the smaller black grains where he had crushed them with his finger revealed an indiscernible particle on the inside of some of the grains.

“Let’s break one open.”

oOo

Meanwhile in the forest, Thranduil’s thoughts had turned to the same subject of Elrond’s studies.

There had been something so hauntingly familiar that took hold of him when he had uncorked the vial. That smell; it lingered in the depths of his memory and nagged at his consciousness.

He _knew_ that smell.

oOo

Elrond grabbed a small one-edged knife.

oOo

_Where is it from?_

oOo

He held it up to one of the grains and aimed.

oOo

_What could it be? I know what it is..._

oOo

His hand rose to strike the grain in half.

oOo

A headache began to pulse between his temples. _I _know_ what it is! Why can I not recall..?_

oOo

His hand came down and the grain split.

It exploded with bang and threw Elrond and Elladan off their feet and thrust everything off the table, leaving behind a smoking black soot that smelt strongly like...

oOo

It hit him all at once.

The smoke. The blood. The churning void. The ominous undertone. The haunting memory.

_Dragonfire_.

oOoOoOo


	23. No Matter What

Chapter 23~ No Matter What

Gilgan burst into camp once again with a flurry of his new deep green cloak, courtesy of their elven prisoner, Jaseric.

“My lord!” Gilgan bowed deeply to Ausocitin and tried to catch his breath.

“They are on their way! The king and the prince are with them.”

A sinister smile unfitting to the fairness of Ausocitin’s elven face brushed his lips.

Gindorelle looked confused.

“My lord? How will we respond to this? It is quite unexpected. I know as a fact that he is not coming to surrender, for that is not his way. Either this is a joke or Thranduil is more of a fool than I had initially thought.”

Ausocitin’s smile widened. “Unexpected? My dear General, I’ve been counting on it. Did you get the documents, boy?”

Gilgan nodded, keeping his eyes down with his head lowered submissively, he presented a small folder of parchment to the advisor.

An excited light seeped into the elf’s eyes as he relieved the boy of the documents and flipped through them with increasing delight.

“It’s all here. You do good work, uh Gilian. Go on and rest up. We may have need of you yet.”

The messenger hesitated as if wanting to correct his name but after a moment’s indecision, he quickly bowed his head and ducked into one of the tents.

“My lord?” Gindorelle asked uncertainly. His inquisitive gaze was studying the documents as if trying to read them, but he quickly averted his eyes when Ausocitin turned to him.

“You wish to know what these documents contain?”

Gindorelle nodded. “Yessir.” The _ellon’s_ eyes were bright and curious. Ausocitin scoffed inwardly. _He is so naive... But I do not mind._

The advisor’s eyes continued to shine and he leaned in closer to the General as if passing on an important secret, which he was.

“Now General, I am only telling you this because I trust you. And should you betray that trust, I should have to dispose of you, for you and me alone would know of this,” his voice was low and words alluring. “I do hope you understand.”

Gindorelle’s eyes widened slightly but then he checked himself, mentally chiding that he should not offer such outward displays of eagerness.

“You have naught to fear with me, Sire.”

_Ah, so it is Sire now, hmm? I rather like this ellon._

“Good. Now, you know of the basic layout of our plan, am I correct?”

“Yes my lord; we besiege the stronghold and either starve them out or wait for their last stand, in which they will inevitably be bested. You will use your illusion of Thranduil to turn his own people against him...and eventually dispose of him,” Gindorelle was unsure of this, but he was merely making guesses at this point, “and rise to the throne in the people’s dire need of a leader, I assume?

“You use the wealth from the treasury and plunder from the other elven towns that we have attacked and use them to pay the _Edain_ to satisfy their needs after Smaug’s destruction as Thranduil failed to do, and you rise to the throne over a broken and leaderless people. Everyone is happy.”

Ausocitin’s mouth curved in amusement. He should’ve known this ellon would cut to the gist of things.

“Correct, General. Though I will not be hasty to kill Thranduil. Perhaps he will be content to serve me, perhaps as a servant when he has nothing left to fight for.”

He paused for a moment as if contemplating something and then nodded to himself and stole a glance at the ellon. Gindorelle bit his lip and choked back a plea for him to continue.

“There is something you should know. The treasury is nearly empty. There is no possible way that meager amount will satisfy the needs of our hired help.”

Gindorelle’s brow twisted in bewilderment and dismay, but he held his breath and hoped there was more to what Ausocitin had just told him. There was.

“These documents,” he held them up for emphasis, “contain records of the dealings concerning sufficient amounts of precious metals and other wealth in various settlements scattered around Greenwood’s borders. You see, Oropher set them up in case something like this ever happened, and I alone knew of it; for a while.

“Now the Thranduil I know would not have it to stand by and do nothing while an enemy waits on his doorstep. His temper and stubbornness will eventually get the better of him and no one will be able to stop him then. “

“He will storm out here like the fool he is with all the ‘for the people’ nonsense and demand to know what is going on. Then, of course, with some well-placed threats and a bit of help from a handy little trinket I found up north, he will go to each of these cities and collect the claims to have the wealth ready for pickup, which can only be done by the king himself; a certain precaution placed by Oropher.”

A sadistic glee crept into his eyes. He let the smile linger for a moment more before turning serious once again. Gindorelle automatically straightened.

“You have pleased me, General. If you let this continue, I will be sure to keep you in a high position in my future court.”

The _ellon_ looked about ready to burst with excitement, but once again chided himself inwardly and checked himself, trying to keep his face a mask of respect.

“If that would please you, my lord,” he said solemnly.

The advisor smiled. “Very well. Now, we prepare for the fun to begin. Go get Denisale and Evlani ready. I will deal with, erm, Captain Tauriel.”

Gindorelle bowed and disappeared into a tent. Ausocitin strode over to his prisoner. And a half.

oOo

Tauriel started when Jaseric jerked in her arms and let out a low moan. Her attention snapped from the superior’s disturbing conversation and channeled to her brother whom she had missed for so long. She was relieved to see him awake; they had many words to share.

“_Muindor_. Awaken now.”

oOo

_Farewell sweet earth and Northern sky,_

oOo

He shifted once again as an audible sigh passed his lips. He pried his eyes open with difficulty. He was greeted with the sight of his sister’s troubled green eyes staring back at him.

oOo

_Forever blest, since here did lie,_

_And here with lissom limbs did run,_

_Beneath the moon, beneath the sun,_

oOo

He smiled and brushed his fingers against her face, as if assuring himself that he wasn’t dreaming. Tauriel gently smiled back. He felt a warm flutter of comfort in his _súlë_. _She’s real. It’s not a dream— not a dream. I thought I’d lost you._

oOo

_Luthien Tinuviel,_

_More fair than mortal tongue can tell,_

oOo

She opened the gates of certain guarded emotions and they washed over her expression and doused the love shining in her eyes.

He felt a small prick of disappointment. He didn’t like it when she looked like that. He didn’t quite know what the expression meant, but it sure didn’t look happy, and if anything, his little sister deserved to be happy. _Don’t be sad, Tauri..._

oOo

_Though all to ruin fell the world,_

_Dissolved and backward hurled,_

_Unmade into the old abyss,_

oOo

“_Muindor_. I am sorry to concern you with this so after you have just awoken, but it is urgent. You said something has been happening around here; they are planning something. What do you know?”

He looked rather confused for a second but then it all came rushing back to him.

“Ah, Ausocitin. He kept talking about some sort of illusion that will make him look like the king. This human kept telling him about how he was not eager to try it until he was sure it would not harm—someone, I’m not quite sure who. But I had gotten very bad premonitions about it and—“

His next words died in his throat as Ausocitin loomed over them. Tauriel rearranged Jaseric so that he was leaning comfortably—rather, as comfortable as he could be in their situation— against the tree, and slowly rose to her feet to face him.

oOo

_Though were it’s making good for this_

oOo

“Captain.”

“Filthy traitor.”

Ausocitin didn’t miss a beat.

“Gindorelle has informed me of the misfortune of our sentries. One is dead, but the other is unaccounted for. I am ordering you to retrieve him.”

Tauriel didn’t flinch. “Who are you to order me around like the rest of your underlings?”

oOo

—_the dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea—_

oOo

A blade appeared in the rogue elf’s hand in an instant, once again pressed to Jaseric’s throat. “The one who holds his life.”

Green fire blazed. A flash of red disappeared into the trees.

oOo

_That Luthien for a time should be.*_

oOo

A tear tracked down Jaseric’s face. _Forgive me, Tauri. We will get out of this. I will get you out of this. No matter what..._

_No matter what..._

oOo

Thranduil once again glanced over his shoulder and then back into the darkness that had firmly settled itself over the forest. He felt as if he were looking for something, and it urged him to keep on high alert and was the cause of him constantly swiveling around.

But the same sight greeted his eyes each time. The flickering torches he knew were placed right inside the wall sent off a dwindling warm glow, the dancing lights seemed to beckon him home.

His eyes skipped to ones nearly identical to his. Legolas reminded him of a little fawn as he plodded along faithfully behind his father, never failing to offer a faint quirk of his lips that could be defined as a reassuring smile. There was so much trust and blind love in those cerulean eyes that Thranduil found it hard not to simply throw his arms around him and never let go. He wondered if Legolas knew how much he himself held Legolas dear; if Legolas knew there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for him.

He pushed the silly thought away. Of course he knew. Didn’t he...?

They pushed on through the brush. They were silent except for the occasional rustle of a snagged cloak or faint rattle as a blade was loosened in it’s scabbard.

But the thought pushed at the back of his mind, insistent. It had always been there but nearly never as strong as it was now. Looking back, Thranduil would’ve recognized that nagging. It was apprehension. Almost in a paternal sort of way that told the parent they were one of the most important things in their child’s life, and wanted them to keep going in case—

Keep going strong. No matter what.

The feeling waxed. It had overcome him now. He turned aside to face those soft eyes.

oOo

To say Legolas was puzzled when his father turned to face him and beckoned him away some distance in front of the rest of the group would be an understatement. There was an unreadable expression on the Sinda’s face that gave the young ellon a faint feel of anxiety. He couldn’t imagine what the problem might be.

Perhaps his wounds had begun to really bother him? Legolas quickly discarded that thought. The Thranduil he knew was far to proud to let something like that known.

Perhaps he had changed his mind and would tell Legolas to return to the stronghold? That was more likely. He couldn’t ward away the sour knot in the pit of his stomach that told him he had done something wrong. He cast back in time, searching for anything at all that could cause his father to be disappointed in him. He gulped. There were several things. This whole thing was his fault anyhow...

No, no he couldn’t carry on like that.

He steeled himself despite his growing apprehension and crouched in a huddle as Thranduil indicated.

Legolas leaned forward slightly and studied his father’s expression with practiced, calculating eyes. Thranduil looked very uncharacteristically... nervous. There was no other way to put it. He fidgeted and absently bit his lip, something Legolas had never seen before. Apprehension grew once again. He knew not if the look boded well or ill for him.

“Legolas I—“ Thranduil broke off and bit his lip, then steeled his eyes and met Legolas’ gaze. “I just wanted you to know, no matter what happens,” his voice had the tiniest hint of a wobble, “that I love you with all my being.”

Legolas was so entirely stunned he did not even notice his father’s arms around him until after several seconds. His world flipped inside out and he couldn’t quite describe the emotions coursing through him at the moment. The words hadn’t yet fully registered but he felt a flurry of the loveliest warmth course through his very _súlë_. He didn’t know if he imagined it, but he could’ve sworn he smelled the subtle floral scent of his mother float across the air.

As suddenly as it happened, the moment was over and Thranduil’s arms slid away and he began to turn back to the road.

Then quietly, but not too quiet to where it was inaudible, Legolas responded.

“Me too, _ada_.”

The slight hesitation in his father’s step told Legolas that he heard it.

He smiled to himself, blinking away the wall of moisture forming in his eyes.

oOo

They approached the camp. The warriors were spread out in the trees, waiting for his signal. Thranduil took a deep breath and readied himself, the events of the plan playing out in his mind.

His attention strayed away from the sequence back to his unexpected encounter. Saying the words out loud had given him a sense of solace. Legolas knew. Knew for sure now. And somehow that solace provided him with a confidence he had previously been lacking. He could do this. Legolas needed him to do this. His people needed him to do this.

His eyes darted to the tree where he knew Feren was perched. His lithe form was an indiscernible shape in the shadows, seen only because of his prior knowledge and superior sight. A bitterness crept into the pit of his stomach as their eyes briefly met. The captain administered a small nod, and Thranduil repeated the gesture. He ached to share words with his friend, but it was too late now.

With one last glance behind him, Thranduil stepped out into the fire circle, still concealed behind the gnarled trunk of a shadowed tree.

His eyes swept across the camp, eyeing the situation. They stopped abruptly on a richly clothed slender back and stared at it so hard as if willing the being to spontaneously combust.

Thranduil slipped behind another tree, then another, and finally he was in a position that served the purpose he had in mind.

He gripped the hilt of a broad dagger a little bit tighter.

In a flash, Thranduil had the edge of the knife pressed against Ausocitin’s pale throat so that a small trickle of blood seeped out of the red line the blade created. His smoldering blue eyes pierced surprised and— to the Elvenking’s pleasure— a hint of fear in the brown depths.

“Care to tell me what’s going on, adviser?” Thranduil all but snarled.

A feral light crept into Ausocitin’s eyes that slithered its way across his face and approached his mouth with a sinister curve of his lips.

Then, he laughed.

oOoOoOo

**A/N:** Me? _Over dramatic_?

Probably XP.

*an excerpted poem from the Silmarillion: the Song of Parting.


	24. No Matter What, Part 2

Chapter 24~ No Matter What, Part 2

“No, no, no, and if you didn’t hear me the first time; _no_!”

“_Ada_, I won’t stand by and do nothing! They—“

“_No_, Estel, and that’s final!”

“They need to be warned!”

“Not by you!”

“Hush, _ada_, you’re frightening the Eagle.”

Elrond sagged against the doorframe and pushed a hand through his hair.

“Estel _saes_. I don’t want you to go.” His voice had become quiet and despairing.

Estel stopped his rushed packing and approached his _adar_. He smiled wryly and cocked his hip.

“I know, _ada_. But I really, really need to do this. Please understand?”

Elrond shook his head and flicked hay out of the young human’s hair. He gestured to the Eagle smothered in the hay and peering at them sheepishly with huge brown eyes.

“And he agreed?” he finally asked.

Estel beamed and nodded. “He’s a bit shy but he would be glad to take me.”

Elrond shook his head again and crushed the young human in an embrace. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will _ada_.”

oOo

“I’ve been expecting you. You haven’t gotten any less predictable I’m afraid.” Ausocitin fidgeted but looked far too confident for his current predicament.

Thranduil noticed the human guards around than made no move to their weapons. Many of them even edged away from the duo with fidgety, nervous steps and looked at them as if they might explode.

It was just as he had suspected then. He had walked straight into a trap.

“I asked you a question, _adviser_, and I do not deem it wise to keep me waiting,” Thranduil did his best to keep up the charade, but the rebels were actually much more organized than he had anticipated.

“They fight for me because I promise them aid that you neglected to give them after Smaug—“

“And why do _you_ fight, _adviser_? Ever loyal to my father, _weren’t you?”_ Thranduil cut him off. This was good. Stay on top of the negotiations. Lead them.

That, however, was the only thing that seemed to be going well. Ausocitin’s eyes kept flicking from Thranduil’s face to something behind him, farther into the camp, but Thranduil knew he couldn’t allow himself to turn around or even take his eyes off Ausocitin. It would shatter the charade. Thranduil only hoped Ausocitin didn’t know about the guards he had hidden in the trees.

Ausocitin smiled once again. Not a simple, pleasant smile, but a feral one that put the crazed light in his eyes.

“Why do _I_ fight?” he repeated to himself. The smile stayed in place as he looked away as if pondering his answer. “I fight for me.” He slid a folder of parchment into the Sinda’s belt. “Do this for me, and I will let your precious people live.”

Ausocitin saw something. Thranduil knew it by the way he perked up and twitched under his hold.

Sure enough, another familiar voice rang out from behind him.

“I suggest you stand down, King Thranduil,” Denisale’s voice was uncertain, as if such words were foreign in his mouth.

Thranduil’s eyes bore into Ausocitin’s. The _ellon_ kept a cool, indifferent expression on his face as he watched the proceedings under lax eyelids. Their gazes met for a brief moment and what Thranduil saw made him dread what he was about to turn around to. Triumph.

He turned slowly. He was met with a struggle similar to his own. Denisale held a young woman at knifepoint. A bright shock of red hair was pulled into a clasp at the nape of her neck, revealing a very human set of ears and quite pleasant round, rosy cheeks. She struggled faintly and kept her face a mask of fear.

“I do not think you would want the blood of an innocent on your hands, _hir_—uh, Thranduil.” Denisale’s threat was very half-hearted he seemed to be doing this out of task alone. In fact, by the way he kept looking to his victim and loosening his hold on the weapon in his hands, Thranduil would say there was something suspicious going on there. The Sinda noticed the slip-up on his title, and according to the slight scowl on Ausocitin’s face, so did he.

“‘Tis not on my hands that her blood would be stained, Captain,” Thranduil returned stoically.

Unlike Ausocitin, to whom Thranduil kept referring to by his former title as a form of mockery, the tone of which the Elvenking called Denisale ‘Captain’ told of a remaining level respect. What Denisale had done to Legolas made it hard for him to reserve that respect. Perhaps it was a fool’s hope that kept Thranduil believing this elf was not too far gone, but sometimes, a fool’s hope is just enough. He simply had to deal with the complication at hand.

_Not difficult at all, yes?_ Thranduil thought sarcastically to himself.

The woman began to speak.

_Just what I need._

“Please, sire, give me a chance!” The woman struggled more fiercely. Denisale’s eyes flew open. this was obviously not a part of the plan.

Not wanting to hurt the woman, Denisale fumbled awkwardly with the knife, momentarily relaxing his grip on her. But a moment was all she needed. She twisted in his grip, unsettling his hold, and plunged her fist right into his middle, causing him to double over and accidentally abandon the blade.

Ausocitin cursed under his breath.

The woman ran forwards towards Thranduil, who continuously had to remind himself to keep the blade pressed firmly to the ex-adviser’s neck.

“Evlani!” Denisale managed to croak out; apparently the woman’s name.

A young dark-haired human burst from one of the tents, his eyes wild. “_Ma_! Don’t you hurt my ma!” he cried.

Thranduil was suddenly struck full-force with the familiarity this young boy posed; he looked exactly like Elrond’s young Estel. So there _had_ been an imposter.

Thranduil barely had a chance to give his new observation a second thought when his eyes caught a small glint at the boy’s shoulder. His cloak pin; it was the traditional crest of Mirkwood. It was a silver or gold crest of leaves weaved around the wearer’s personal emblem of their house. This crest bore a lean ash tree, its branches spreading outwards and connecting it to the crest of leaves surrounding it. Jaseric’s emblem.

Thranduil’s heart dropped in his stomach, and it must’ve shown on his face because he felt a flutter of panic brush his _súlë_; apparently Legolas was paying close attention to their bond.

He could almost feel Ausocitin’s rapid pulse under his blade.

The woman, Evlani, advanced.

“You stay back, Gilgan!” she called over her shoulder, not looking behind her but taking slow, steady steps towards him as if he were some wild beast to be reckoned with. He instinctively looked to the trees for Feren; that comparison sounded very familiar. He inwardly chided himself for letting his eyes slip and give indication to his hidden soldiers, but no one had seemed to notice.

His mind reeled. They had Jaseric’s cloak. What could that mean? He didn’t know, but it gave him an unpleasant feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

Before Thranduil had any more time to ponder this, Evlani had collapsed to her knees before him, holding something out on her slender hand.

Gilgan started with a cry and began to run to his mother, but was intercepted by Denisale who caught his waist and held him.

His own heartbeat speeding up considerably, Thranduil leaned over to peer at the glittering object in the human’s hand.

His mouth went dry and blood froze cold. The knife dropped out of his hand. All he could do was stare as he fought the memories flashing at the back of his consciousness.

There, resting on the woman’s trembling hand was Greenwood’s lost Ring of Power.

oOo

Legolas felt a strong jerk in the paternal bond with his father in his _súlë_. He reached out and probed it. Thranduil was a jumble of emotions and flashes. They raced past Legolas so fast he could discern not-a-one. The bright flashes began to invade his consciousness and he had to pull back before he was pushed into the fray.

Eyes wide, Legolas turned his attention back to the scene below. Thranduil’s knife fell to the ground with a small thud. Ice froze itself into the blond ellon’s veins. He could not tear his eyes away from the frozen form of his father.

The red-haired woman’s upturned and outstretched hand shook.

His limbs trembled with restraint. His hand strayed to his knife and he repositioned himself on the branch. His eyes remained trained on his father.

The tension was nearly pliable. No one moved; no one dared even breathe.

The stretch of frozen time was broken by Ausocitin. In the blink of an eye, he had the Elvenking pressed against the tree the knife at his throat, much like Ausocitin was before.

Legolas jerked instinctively.

Movement in the trees caught Legolas’ attention. Feren was already on his way to him. Legolas readied himself.

Thranduil remained unmoving. He could not seem to be able to tear his eyes from the dancing emerald in the woman’s hand. The flickering torchlight played on the gem’s surface in a wavering, mesmerizing rhythm.

Evlani’s hand began to tilt.

The ring tumbled to the edge of her hand.

She paused for a beat.

The ring dropped into the dirt.

Thranduil lunged.

Ausocitin let out a frustrated cry, but did not attempt to re-establish his hold on the Elvenking.

Feren’s hand closed on Legolas’ collar. Legolas lashed out with his elbow, catching Feren in his ribs. He let out a muffled grunt and Legolas pushed off. He crashed into Evlani, tipping her over on her side.

Gindorelle was on top of him before he could even draw his weapon.

Legolas met his father’s eyes and his heart nearly skipped a beat as everything seemed to stop around them. He stared, and stared; put sincerity into his stare.

Telepathy was a rare phenomenon for anyone but elven twins or ring beaters, but if it was possible to take place between father and son, that is exactly what happened in that moment. _Don’t leave me..._

Tauriel flew out of the trees, supporting an _adan_ sporting a knife in his thigh. One of the knives from the stronghold’s armory. Then it hit Legolas. Sentries. Someone had taken out the sentries for them.

_Oh, Tauriel, why?_His heart sobbed.

oOo

Thranduil did a double take. Tauriel’s eyes met his. He shook his head, tears forming in his eyes. She had no threat hanging over her, no restraint. She was willingly helping that human sentry. She was a traitor. His heart crumbled through his fingers.

Before Thranduil could snatch up the ring, a scream tore through the night. A flurry of wings barreled into Gindorelle and his yell was choked with blood as the Eagle’s claws met the soft flesh at his throat.

The light leaked out of his eyes.

Estel was at Legolas’ side in an instant, gripping his shoulders and rushing him into the trees, away from the clearing of the camp.

Denisale pushed Gilgan and Evlani into the trees, sheltering them with his own body.

The humans began to clear out of the camp, running for the trees with wild looks of fear plastered to their scruffy faces.

Thranduil’s fingers closed around the ring and he slipped it onto his finger. A bright flash of red seared through his consciousness, and a deafening roar seemed to crush him with it’s weight.

He was able to return to the present as Tauriel’s scream pierced the air.

Ausocitin was on the far side of the camp. He had gotten one of the crates open and had a black vial in his hand.

His arm drew back as if to throw it. The vial tumbled head over heel across the clearing.

Thranduil barely had time to backpedal farther away from the the target; Tauriel.

Another yell erupted from the trees. A flash of mahogany in the form of a body shot across the clearing. A very familiar flash. Jaseric.

Joy rushed through his _súlë_. He’s alive!

“_Lacho calad! Drego morn_!”

“_NO!”_

_No matter what..._

The vial seemed to connect with Jaseric’s body in slow motion. Tauriel screamed again, and the impact of the blast sent Thranduil crashing into the trees behind him.

Red obscured his vision and he knew no more.

oOo

“Do you think he’s waking up?”

“Who you askin’? I ain’t no healer.”

“Oh, wait, I think so. He’s not injured so I don’t see why not.”

“Maybe he just hit his head.”

“Well there was just an explosion. I’d say he’s uh shell— uh—“

“Shell-shocked?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s the word.”

“Hmph. Y’all a bunch o’ sissies. Jus’ pour some o’ that there water on ’im.”

“And what if he’s the king!?”

“Hmph.”

Thranduil grimaced and groaned as he attempted to move his hand. No success.

“He looks like he has a headache. See that face he’s making?”

Finally he lifted his hand to his head and rubbed his temple. “And all of you aren’t making it any better with all your jabbering.”

A few voices cried out in surprise. “He’s awake!”

“No kiddin’.”

“_Hush_!”

Thranduil managed to pry his eyes open and blink the spots from his vision. He let out a low groan as he rose to one elbow.

There were elflings sitting all about him. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, but sure enough, there they were, right in front of him and plain as day. Four of them to be exact.

“Are you the king, mister?” A young ellon with nut brown hair spoke and peered at him curiously. He looked to be the youngest.

Thranduil smiled as the little elleth—the only one in this lot— gave him a satisfactory smack upside the head. “Fararth!”

She turned her own youthful, curious eyes on him.

“Well, are you? Sir,” she added on almost as an afterthought.

His smile widened and he shook his head in amusement.

“Yes, _penneth_.” He frowned suddenly as noticing the whole absurdity of the situation. “Who, or rather, where are your parents?”

They all looked down simultaneously. Really, elflings were so easy to read at times.

A small, chestnut-haired elfling spoke up first. He was small, almost as small as the presumed youngest, but he was much stockier and his eyes held a superior intelligence of one who is older. “Helgilion, sir. Son of Haldaner. Sir.”

_Ah, General Haldaner’s son._

The _elleth_ spoke next. “My name is Estella Filendisiel and this is Fararth.” Estella nudged her brother and he inclined his head, causing her to forget to do so in the process.

A smile tugged on Thranduil’s lips. Filendis’ elflings were here too? His curiosity peaked.

All eyes turned to the last elfling; a grumpy-looking brown haired ellon. He had not spoken so far that Thranduil had gained consciousness.

“What about you, _penneth_?” Thranduil prompted gently. He had always been told he had a soft spot for children.

“Whadda ‘_bout_ me?” he countered tersely. The elfling did not look up and instead picked at the grass sprouting from the cold soil.

Thranduil inwardly grimaced. So this is the one with the terrible speech.

There’s the attitude. He was beginning to feel irked at this young one’s temperament.

“What is your name?”

“Minaitir.”

“Who is your father, _penneth_?”

“He’s dead,” Minaitir stated flatly.

Thranduil’s heart went out to the boy.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What is your father’s name?”

Minaitir glanced up briefly before looking back down again. Thranduil put all the gentleness he could muster into the moment their gazes met.

“Gindorelle. General Gindorelle.”

Thranduil’s heart came running right back. He inwardly chided himself for being so prejudiced towards the boy because of his father, but he couldn’t help it. His prejudices were famous throughout the lands after all.

Thranduil noticed the smoking remains of the clearing in the distance, and Anor was almost fully risen, meaning the elfling had to be close by when... things happened. Meaning Minaitir had seen the Eagle tear the life from his father. Thranduil grimaced.

“And your mother?”

“_Adar_,” the word seemed foreign on Minaitir’s tongue, “left her.”

The Sinda was taken aback. Such a thing was unheard of among elves. “He left her?” he croaked.

Minaitir scowled. “Yeah, when she was a-dead and bleedin’ he had to leave her ‘fore the wolves got him and me too.”

The Elvenking was at a loss of what to say. “I see.”

He filled in the blanks as to where the parents of the other elflings were.

The young _ellon’s_ eyes hardened and he scowled and looked away.

It was then Thranduil noticed the disheveled state of Helgilion and Minaitir. They even seemed to be sporting some injuries.

He reached behind him and was delighted to find his full pack still there; still stuffed with the necessary traveling supplies.

He took out a roll of bandages.

“How about you two tell me about what happened while I get you cleaned up,” he said with a very pointed look at the gash across Minaitir’s middle.

“Yessir— Wait! You can’t do that, sir!” It was Helgilion this time.

“And why not?”

“Because you’re the king! Sir!”

“Thranduil will do, _hannon lle, penneth.”_

Helgilion looked around, rather flustered.

Thranduil smiled and pulled Helgilion into his arms. The elfling was stiff in his arms and made an alarmed peep.

“I have kissed more scrapes and bruises in my lifetime than you would care to know; I am not incapable of doing it again.”

Helgilion struggled, his face aghast. Thranduil laughed.

“Oh, learn to take a joke, Haldanerion.”

His words had brought a certain young blond ellon to the forefront of his mind. His own son. That muse was crushed with the image of Jaseric bursting through the trees and colliding into the path of the tumbling vial. Those thoughts brought unwelcome grief to his heart and he pushed those thoughts away.

He fingered the documents still tucked in his belt. Ausocitin wanted the money from Oropher’s business? Then that’s what he would get.

oOoOoOo


	25. Welcome to Mirkwood

Chapter 25~Welcome to Mirkwood 

Estel glanced over to the young _ellon_ trudging at his elbow. His face was twisted in a conflicted manner, and Estel couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lips.

Legolas suddenly turned on his heel and began walking in the exact opposite direction.

“Estel I think we should—“

Estel quickly grabbed his elbow and steered him back on track.

“Legolas, no.”

They walked in silence for a few more minutes before the ellon turned on his heel again back in the reverse direction. Estel shook his head and sighed in exasperation and once again steered his friend back forward.

A few more uncomfortable minutes of silence passed. Unable to take it any longer, Legolas stopped in his tracks and threw up his hands in frustration.

“But what if he’s—“

“He’s _fine_.”

“But Estel—“

“No.”

“Please just lis—“

“Legolas. We cannot go back. The rebels may have already arrived.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. What if he didn’t get away in time? What if—“

He dropped off with a defeated sigh. He raked his fingers through the remains of his mussed braids and twiddled with the ends of his hair. He was as taut as a bowstring at full draw. Estel could see how difficult it was for him to restrain himself and refrain from going after his father and the other elves that were left behind.

Estel smiled kindly. “You really love him don’t you?” Legolas gave him a strained smile as an affirmative. “I suppose I can’t blame you. I would have already been back there if it was any of my family.”

The young human smiled again in understanding and embraced his friend, clapping his back in the manner of men. Even though Legolas was a good bit taller than him, he felt much like comforting the little brother he never had.

“When the Eagle comes back, maybe he can fly over the clearing behind us and see what’s going on.” When he pulled away, the ellon was smiling.

“If anything goes wrong, I’m blaming you,” Legolas admonished with shadowed glee.

“As a matter of fact, I’m famished. I hope you brought something good.”

He was back. Estel laughed. “That I did, _mellon nin_, that I did.”

After downing a quick breakfast of dried fruits and dehydrated venison—the typical travel meal— they resumed walking into the sunrise.

oOo

Thranduil ruffled through the documents and bit his lip in concentration. _I really need to stop doing that_, he chided himself. After scanning them over, he shoved them back in the folder and put them in his pack and slung it on.

“We go west. Start with the towns right outside the forest and along the Anduin. They all appear to be _Edain_ towns.” Thranduil sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. All four elflings peered up at him, their hands behind their backs. He couldn’t return them to the stronghold, and didn’t want to risk looking for their parents should they run into more _Edain_. So, they would just have to come with him; he would not let them out of his sight.

He would have to figure out what to do about Minaitir’s home later.

“Do any of you have weapons?” he asked. After hearing their stories and reasons for leaving home he had seen this children differently. More... individually with the young flame in their heart burning brightly and at its finest; not as just a few disobedient elflings.

“Well, I have my knife, _hir n_—uhh, Thranduil,” Helgilion said, pointing to the small sheath at his side.

“And I took this from ada’s operating set,” Estella took out a good-sized knife that she had tied to her thigh. “Couldn’t find anything else.” She shrugged.

Thranduil nodded approvingly and turned to the other two.

“I lost mine,” Minaitir chirped. Then, he smiled wryly. “In the Man’s leg,” he snickered.

Thranduil gave him a withering look and unclipped the broad dagger from his belt and attached it to Minaitir’s. It was more of a sword than a dagger to the elfling, but it would do. The little _ellon_ looked up at him with surprised gratitude.

“Keep it. It might need to be sharpened but it shouldn’t be too dull,” Thranduil said.

Minaitir’s eyes turned wide with shock and disbelief and shone with unshed tears.

He slowly unsheathed the blade and traced the inlaid silver designs on the hilt and swirling designs that crawled up the middle of the blade. This weapon was obviously very expensive and looked to belong to the king himself.

He swung it experimentally and was delighted with how perfectly balanced it was and how the hilt seemed to melt into his hand.

He looked at the tall blond _ellon_ with a new light of respect. He had never been given anything before. Much less something this beautiful. Well, except his mother’s dresses, but then again they had never really been his. Gindorelle had burned them in a fit of grief before Minaitir ever had the chance to smuggle one.

Minaitir sheathed his new blade with new-found pride.

Fararth shook his head and spread his hands in a ‘_I don’t have anything_’ gesture.

“Well, we’ll have to find you something. Traveling through this forest isn’t some sort of holiday so you all have to make sure and stay right next to me and—“

“—not touch anything because it might have spiders’ web on it—“ Estella piped.

“—not eat anything before showing it to you because it might be poisonous—“ Fararth said admonishingly.

“—not drink water before we’re sure it’s clean and not enchanted—“ Helgilion added wryly.

“—and if orcs attack climb as high as we can in a tree no matter what happens to you,” finished Minaitir. “We know.”

Thranduil smiled and ruffled the nearest elfling’s hair—which happened to be Fararth. “Well. I suppose you do. Come along now; it’s time to get moving.”

He absently fiddled with the Ring on his finger.

oOo

Everything hurt. Terribly.

Tauriel groaned and took a deep breath and rolled onto her back with a grimace. She was finally able to pry her eyes open, but then closed them abruptly. The light burned and stabbed into her head with a sharp, throbbing sensation. Her ears were filled with the monotone ringing of a million little bells and her left arm hung limply at her side.

Something hard dug into her back and after several minutes of discomfort, she reached behind her and tried to move the rock-hard lump away. Her fingers froze in their struggle to move the object. This was far too smooth and the edges were too sharp to be just any rock...

Her hand slid up and she suddenly jerked into a sitting position with a gag after feeling the unmistakable feel of fur. She had been leaning against a dead horse. She scrambled away as fast as she could and collapsed back onto her elbows, panting.

Her nerves felt as if they were sizzling and the air stung inside when she drew breath.

She looked blearily around the smoking clearing. Pieces of wood littered the entire area, along with some unfortunate souls who had not been able to get away from the explosion in time. They were all human as far as she could see.

Tauriel looked down at her hands. They were smeared with black soot and the skin underneath was an angry red color. The morning light filtered through a milky mist that hung in the air besides the smoke that burned her eyes.

But there was one body that stood out from among the rest. That body had a short shock of deep red hair.

Tauriel struggled to her feet with the help of a singed young tree. The world tilted and spun and wavered around her while the ringing intensified.

A step. Her legs trembled.

Another step. Then another, and another. Jaseric’s body neared with each step.

Two more steps. She panted. Her lungs were on fire. Her legs shook.

One more step.

She collapsed. Her aching muscles protested violently to meeting the ground.

She lifted her head once again. He was so close!

She rose to her elbows, then her knees. She dragged herself forwards. After what seemed all day, she arrived.

Tauriel unclipped her cloak and wrapped his body in it, leaving his face uncovered. Blessedly, it was mostly unmarred. It would only hurt more to realize what happened to the rest of him.

She cradled his body and pressed her cheek to his cool forehead. She ran her fingers through his sooty hair and cupped his face.

Not a tear escaped. She let out no cry of grief. She was hollow inside; empty. She gave her all and now it was gone. She had nothing left.

She was alone.

“Say hello to _nana_ and _ada_ for me. And tell them I love them. That we missed them. I love you _muindor_. I wish you didn’t have to leave me. You gave the best hugs, you know that?” She stroked his cheek with her thumb. Her gaze was far away.

She huffed out a chuckle. “Remember that one time, that I insisted you help me into that old ash tree? And then realized how high it was and you had to come back up to carry me down. I didn’t let go of you all night.” She huffed again with a watery smile. “You couldn’t even eat supper that night because I wouldn’t let go.”

She lightly kissed his forehead and rested her cheek on it. She rocked back and forth and held him tighter. “I’ll see you in my dreams...”

Her eyes drifted closed and her breaths evened. She was asleep.

oOo

Dorthion let out a deep sigh. He had accounted for the whole Royal Guard, except for the healer and his wife and the general, not to mention the king, prince, and captain themselves. They had several injured and needed to return to the stronghold very soon.

That blasted filthy traitor adviser had gotten away. How Dorthion wanted to wring his skinny neck.

They were returning to the clearing now; most of the elves were uninjured and they could handle any nosy _Edain_.

He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. He saw what happened and dearly hoped they wouldn’t find the lifeless bodies of any of his leiges.

And Tauriel. How dearly he hoped she was alright. _Hold on, mel pen, hold on._

He quickened his pace and urged the others to do the same.

oOo

He saw the archer; she didn’t. He knew her. He couldn’t bear to see another one of his kind killed.

Tears rolled down his cheeks. What a fool he was. What a _fool_.

The human drew back the string to full draw. She didn’t move. She looked to be asleep.

He ran. The arrow loosed.

Pain erupted in his shoulder. Evlani restrained a cry. Gilgan was at his side in an instant.

He heard them. They were coming from the trees. He pushed Evlani away. It hurt but he would be fine. He gestured to the motionless _elleth_ clinging to her brother’s dead body. She nodded and went to the _elleth_, taking a fine cloak with her.

oOo

Tauriel felt something warm envelop her shoulders. Warm breath brushed her neck as a low voice whispered:

“This was his; thought you might want it.”

Tauriel sat up and looked about her. The red-haired woman she had seen only briefly at the camp crouched next to her with a sympathetic smile on her face.

A body she didn’t remember seeing before lay in the dirt, an arrow jutting out of the shoulder. The young human messenger sat next to it. She looked closer at the face and was shocked to find it was Denisale.

She whipped her head around just in time to see a human body thud out of the trees, face-down with an arrow in his chest, his bow still clutched in his hand.

Elves flooded into the clearing. The edges of her vision began to darken.

Someone picked her up and she heard and order for Jaseric to be taken with them. The elf holding her called out an order to arrest Denisale, Evlani, and Gilgan. She shivered and looked up at the elf holding her. Dorthion.

She buried her face in his chest and relished the warm embrace.

She was safe.

oOo

Legolas stopped abruptly, a confused expression on his face. The moon illuminated the silver threads in his cloak and workings of silver in his weapons.

“No,” Aragorn said automatically.

“Estel, wait. Where are we going?”

Aragorn continued on his way. “Wherever you’re leading,” he called over his shoulder.

“I thought you were leading?!” _Blast it; you fool! Where is your head, Legolas?!_

At this, Estel stopped as well. “What do you mean?! This is _your_ forest!” his voice rose in pitch and squeaked. He would never admit it, but this forest gave him the creeps.

“Well technically, it’s not—“

“So you mean this whole time we’ve been wandering around like some mindless bird-brains, just waiting to be eaten by some abnormally massive, hungry creature that would more than anything like to tear us limb from limb!?”

“Your overreacting, _mellon nin—“_

“Not to mention we could have just walked back into one of those rebel camps and—“

“Estel _hush_!” The young human’s fear of the forest reeked of Elladan and Elrohir’s slightly—to say the least— exaggerated stories.

Legolas had crouched defensively, warily peeking into the boughs above. He strung his bow with slow movements, never taking his eyes off the black, gnarly, web-coated trees.

“_Oho_! Wouldn’t that be dandy for me! I’d get torn apart by a horde of angry elves if anything happened to you!”

_Valar! What on Arda did those twins tell him!_

Legolas suddenly froze and his face blanched. He eased an arrow from his quiver and crouched down lower, his eyes still trained on the branches above.

“I don’t think you would have to worry about the camps.” The _ellon’s_ voice was low and quiet. His eyes flicked to the left and he caught the faintest of scuttling in the raggedy foliage. Everything suddenly seemed darker; ominous. He nocked the arrow and adjusted his grip on the bow, all with slow, gentle movements.

“No one would dare camp here.” His voice had dropped into a low rumble under his breath. “We have found a nest.”

Estel finally snapped out of his rant and his head whipped towards Legolas. A word formed on his lips but no sound came forth. His face could’ve blended in with snow. Legolas glanced sidelong at him, not moving his head. His posture was set in stone.

“You ever fought spiders before, Estel?” his voice remained at that low rumble.

The human unsheathed his blade and mimicked Legolas’ crouch.

“No,” Aragorn’s voice was a hoarse whisper. His young age suddenly seemed all too apparent.

Like Legolas, his eyes were darting among the branches above. The twisted trees suddenly seemed like they were surrounding him and weaving around the small space they were standing in. The tense silence played on his nerves stronger than ever. The of contrast of the ebony-white webs on the black bark of the trees gave the whole scene a skeletal appearance.

“Aim for the eyes. Slash between the plates of exoskeleton at the abdomen and behind the head. Mind the stingers. I don’t suppose you brought any anti-venom?”

“No.” All Aragorn could think of were the illustrations of Ungoliant from Erestor’s library. If Morgoth feared the beast, Estel felt he had every reason to.

Legolas’ bow was at full draw and he was slowly lifting it to aim. “Then you better hope we don’t get stung.”

A hoarse screech sounded from the trees and yellow blinking dots marked the creatures’ bulbous eyes. Their legs scraped nearer and nearer.

Legolas released his arrow and had another nocked before the other had even hit its target. A large black body thudded into the dirt, a black ichor oozing out of the entry wound where the creature’s eye used to be.

Most of the tension drained out of Estel’s limbs and was replaced by the usual pre-battle adrenaline. He repeatedly thanked the Valar. He was expecting creatures the size of Ungoliant herself. _Elladan and Elrohir have it in for themselves..._

Legolas blew out a breath as the creatures gathered around them with grating furious shrieks. He glanced at Estel once again. He hoped with all his heart that this human knew how to fight.

“Welcome to Mirkwood,” Legolas muttered under his breath, and plunged into the fray.

oOoOoOo


	26. The Children are Gone

Chapter 26~ The Children Are Gone

_Trees surrounded him. Grand trees with their limbs outstretched as if embracing the sunlight and leaves dancing like a million emeralds. Their rumbling song hummed through his súlë, consoling it, cherishing its Light with year-laden wisdom and celebrating it with the vehemence of a child. The murmured greetings tickled his ears and a smile graced his face as he absorbed the pure, unbridled joy that filled him. _

_He loved this. This was familiar; a safe haven: home. This was his home. Grand and beautiful, it’s beauty would never fail to bring him the light exhilaration of simply living. _

_Laughter seeped through the leafy canopy above. The melodic voices seemed to brighten the atmosphere and sharpen the light greens and soft yellows and pinks and oranges of the flora dotting the wispy brush._

_Small critters scurried fearlessly at his feet. Elves danced out of the protective canopy of the foliage, their eyes bright, cheeks rosy, and light feet nimble as a cat’s. Elflings dropped out of the branches with delighted squeals as they ran after one another; their faces flushed, and brown locks like flickering wisps of fire as they disappeared behind the trunks of trees and ran through the grass._

_Wonder and laughter sparkled in the eyes of all elves as they acknowledged him with a bright smile and polite inclination of their head. The youngsters pulled at his sleeves and begged him to join them in their prancing. His musical laughter joined theirs and he complied, letting them pull him away._

_They increased their pace until it became urgent. The laughter faded as they led him away. The deeper they went, the sky peeking through the leaves seemed a little bit more grey than blue. The cheerful twittering of the birds drained into mournful clicks and seemed a little bit quieter. Somehow the grass seemed a little bit flatter, the elflings a little bit more somber. The skittering footsteps of the wildlife seemed a little bit more fearful, and the warm sunlight hid away behind the clouds and enveloped them in a chilly grey-blue instead of the pleasant gold._

_The appearances of clumps of flowers lessened and eventually turned to a dark, scrubby ivy riddled with thorns. The tree’s song shifted dramatically._

_Instead of welcoming him, making him feel alive, the mournful whispers seems to weigh him down and pile on his shoulders. His feet began to drag. The weight of the Ring on his finger seemed to increase._

_A small hand pulled on his robe and he looked down into the somber yet strikingly green eyes of the elfling. The children crowded around him and clung to his clothing and groped to grasp his hand. They hid their faces and looked at him with despairing eyes. The flowers in their hair had wilted and dusted their lashes and shoulders with tiny petals. The elfling that had pulled on him pointed fearfully ahead of them into the trees. _

_He looked up and gasped. Beyond the trees had darkened. Their bark had become a black, oozing gnarl. Their once-graceful limbs had twisted and the twigs were bare of leaves and resembled claws. Motionless yet reaching for him. Tendrils of black ivy wrapped around the trees, forbidding and unwelcoming; promising violence._

_Everything became was still and eerily silent. The previous joy he had felt course through him was now drowned out by the snarls and clicks of the looming trees; they hated his Light._

_Mournful wails broke the stillness. The elflings at his hips whimpered and clung tighter to him. Elves emerged from the trees._

_Unlike the ones he had previously seen, these elves gave off an aura promising danger. Instead of the flowing yellow and blue tunics of the other elves, these wore armor of a dark grey and brown and weapons of shining steel or polished wood. Their faces were hard and grim and the glimmer of happiness seen in the others smiling lips had been replaced by one of determination with set jaws. Their calloused hands hovered over their weapons and their shifting eyes were the only betrayal to their alertness. _

_Their movements were just as graceful and smooth as they moved. Instead of contributing to the beauty of these creatures, their movements spoke of deadly precision and lithe frames held a leashed whirlwind of death._

_So heavy... the Ring was so heavy now._

_The elflings clinging to him let out sobs of despair as the armor-clad elves gently pulled them away from him and brushed the petals off their shoulders and began dressing them in hardened leather._

_They took the pens and flowers from their hands and instead pressed shining blades of steel into them. The elflings twirled the weapons experimentally. The innocence radiating from them was replaced by the hardened determination that was around the elder elves also._

_The children were gone. _

_His heart wept as they disappeared into the ominous trees with a flash of brown and glimmer of steel. The trees erupted into vicious snarls and violent protests as they lashed out with their branches and shrank away from the burning light of the elves. Blood flooded out of the darkness, running like a river. His eyes widened and heart skipped a beat. The snarls of the trees died out; nothing but silence was heard now._

_The children were gone._

_The blood continued to trickle through the blackened soil. The crimson tendrils approached his feet and he backpedaled furiously to avoid it from touching him._

_The children were gone..._

_Suddenly the trees were thrust violently to one side with an ear-splitting crack. They had parted a wide pathway down the middle. The weight on his finger disappeared and he looked down frantically to find the Ring gone._

_Ausocitin stood near the pathway of unnaturally bent trees, his eyes trained on a brightly shining green light on his finger and glimmering with a mad, almost sadistic glee. Large draft horses lumbered down the pathway, toiling under the weight of laden, uncovered carts. The carts held wooden crates. The crates were stacked high to the tall barriers encasing the wagons. _

_He blanched and cold dread seeped into his veins. He knew those crates. They held the Dragon Dust. He could barely bare to look as the poor beasts came closer and closer. They stumbled._

_There was hardly a split-second before the entire area burst into a flurry of flame so bright it would put any fire-drake to shame. The sound roared in his ears and pierced his head with blinding pain._

_He gasped. The flame was wild and chaotic; a twirling mass of white-hot reds and oranges, blues and yellows, but not without shape. A black slit pulsed in the center of the flames, taking the shape of... an Eye. The pupil bored into him and probed his defenses._

_It was so large, so full of malice. It wanted to engulf him. To eat up his light and devour it. To smash it into nothingness and grind its remains to be cast into the miserable Void._

_Here it was. This churning blackness. His heart trembled despite his vehement attempt to ward the tendrils of black that fought against his Light. He knew this Eye. _

_The flames dissipated enough for him to catch a glimpse of his surroundings. The towering peaks of the Black Gate loomed before him. The heat burned his face and the gushing flames took over his hearing._

_He was assaulted with the harsh scent of sulfur; burning bodies; metallic blood. Horrified, his eyes widened further. A silhouette of the black trees that had once been his home shined in the churning black depths of the Eye’s pupil. Silvery blood poured forth and soaked the earth._

_The children were gone..._

_It trickled on his hands until he was drowning in it. The Eye let out a terrible roar. The crimson flood pulled him down._

_It lapped at his hair, his face, and pulled him under. He fought to resurface. His heart was pounding erratically in his ears and for a while all he could hear was his own strangled whimpers and the blood rushing around him. _

_He kicked furiously and his head broke the surface. The dark tendrils assaulted him with new-found fury and he let his Light burst forth to ward them away._

_The last thing he saw before being pulled under once again was his father’s bleeding body adding to the river he now drowned in. Despair engulfed him and he sank. _

oOo

Thranduil’s eyes snapped open but a thick fog obscured his vision. A great weight crushed his chest and something was shaking his shoulder. He felt angry. So very, very angry.

The taste of blood hung in his mouth. His whole body began to tremble as he sat up with a snarl. His flailing fist connected with something solid. An alarmed yelp sounded from the recipient of his hit and his finger burned.

It was so heavy he could barely lift it. He grasped the Ring with his other hand and tried to yank it off. The Eye flashed across his vision with a frustrated roar and the Ring finally slid off his finger. He thrust it away from him with a triumphant grunt.

The weight on his chest disappeared and the fog cleared from his vision and mind.

Thranduil sat up. The four elflings peered up at him fearfully. He stared at them uncomprehendingly for a few seconds, but it was Minaitir’s hurt, betrayed gaze and small arm wrapped around his middle snapped him back into his full senses.

“Oh,” Thranduil breathed, “_goheno nin, penneth_!” He leaned forwards to the stricken elfling, but Minaitir recoiled from him. The other elflings shifted uncomfortably. The Sinda drew back. “I am sorry, I was dreaming. I was not aware it was you I struck, _penneth_.”

Some of the wariness in the elfling’s eyes dissipated. His hand brushed the hilt of his knife and he nodded slowly.

“Are you alright, _hir nin_—uhh Thranduil?” Helgilion asked worriedly.

Thranduil smiled thinly to try and ease the tense awkwardness of the situation.

“Yes. It was merely a bad dream.” His eyes darkened and he cast a venomous glance at the Ring that was now resting peacefully in the withered grass.

Estella looked at it in wonder and reached for it, but quickly drew back her hand from a snapped warning from the Elvenking. He pulled on one of his leather gloves and picked up the Ring. He stowed it safely at the bottom of his pack.

“I do not want any of you to touch that Ring, am I clear?” The elflings nodded stiffly. Lower, he added, “That Ring is evil.” Fearful eyes flicked up to him and he looked around.

“What happened?” Thranduil did not remember stopping here, and it was still afternoon; they should have kept walking until dusk.

“Well, we were walking and suddenly out of nowhere you collapsed,” Estella said.

Thranduil knitted his brow together and began to rummage in his pack. The children were probably hungry. The elflings had fallen back into silence. It was rather strange, considering how they had all been fighting over one another for a breath to talk. Now they kept their distance as if he were about to bite.

His hands stilled. “Is something wrong?”

Silence.

“Well? Have you all lost your tongues?” Realization suddenly dawned on him. “Did I do something while I was dreaming?”

“Well,” Fararth started. The other elfling’s somber gazes snapped to him warningly. “You kept saying ‘the children are gone’.”

Thranduil nodded and pretended to accept that as an answer. The little ones visibly relaxed. A wry smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. Children were so simple. He appreciated that.

He knew this was not the real problem though. The possibility of this happening had not entered his mind as the elflings joined him, but now he had to take the liberties in explaining this to them. He did not want them to fear him.

He felt a twinge in his heart. _Why is it so easy for me to provide comfort to these strangers, yet I struggle so with my own blood?_

He harshly tore his thoughts away from Legolas. Worrying about him would only distract him and he could afford none. Not when these young lives relied on his attentiveness.

Catching the elflings off guard, Thranduil said, “It was my face wasn’t it?”

Helgilion and Minaitir exchanged was he supposed they thought were deft horrified glances. Estella looked alarmed but quickly schooled her features and turned a rather vicious glare on her younger brother when he began to giggle nervously.

“We thought you were turning into an orc!” Fararth declared.

Thranduil’s eyes darkened. He knew Filendis and he knew Haldaner and was absolutely sure they would not reveal such dark things to ones so young. He was beginning it to feel more disgusted with Gindorelle as he witnessed what the ex-General’s parenting had done first-hand.

“Now who put a silly idea like that in your head?” Thranduil asked playfully while turning his weighted glare on Minaitir. The elfling shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

Thranduil shook his head and smiled admonishingly. “Never mind that. It was a wound I acquired a very long time ago and it never really healed.”

The Filendisinnath seemed satisfied with the explanation and settled down with the food the Sinda offered them.

“Does it hurt?” Helgilion asked timidly.

“What happened?” Minaitir said.

Thranduil pulled them onto his lap and looked at them thoughtfully. “Sometimes it hurts. And let’s just say that dragons aren’t very agreeable companions.” He smiled sadly. “But that’s enough for your probing little minds for now. I suppose we are all tired. Come, eat this and then off to bed. There will be no fire tonight.”

The early stars had begun to wink in the sky as the little—in more ways than one—company settled down for the night. They had wandered far enough north so that they were no longer in the dark part of the forest, so no watch needed to be set, for the trees would warn them of any danger and Thranduil would only sleep light, and therefore wake should anything change.

Helgilion, Estella, and Fararth were all cuddled together, sharing their cloaks. Minaitir lay bundled up in a spare cloak Thranduil had stuffed in his pack, but refused to sleep near anyone. Minaitir would be cold, but he had tersely declined any invitations to move closer to the others. He had been quiet and brooding while they ate and something was obviously troubling him. Thranduil decided to wait before confronting him, for nothing would be wrest from the young Silvan that night.

Supplies were another thing to be worried about. When Thranduil had been stuffing items into his pack, he had only taken enough food and water for himself for about a week. Now there were five of them. They were still too close to the dark trees for any game to be wandering about, and nothing would be growing as the days became colder. Hopefully they would make it to the elven village soon.

His thoughts drifted to the artifact sitting at the bottom of his pack. Things began to make sense. The moment he had put the ring on he had felt burdened. Like there was some subconscious internal battle he had been fighting. He felt in harmony with the trees; the black trees.

It was not natural, he thought. Their eerie whispers had played at the back of his mind and he felt... powerful. Yet it was a sickening sort of power. Vicious and unrelenting. Like the blackened trees and the violence they promised.

And then the dream where he had seen Ausocitin using the Ring to bend the trees to let the enormous wagons through the the thick trunks— and then Thranduil had become violent. He had struck Minaitir! And the Eye. He had seen the Eye. But that was it, wasn’t it? The Ring was evil. Tainted. Ausocitin had used the Ring; become addicted to it’s power. He was tainted.

A shiver went down his spine. There was no other explanation for the ellon’s unrelenting greed and violence. Even madness seemed rather far-fetched to what had become of this being. Oropher trusted him at some point, which meant Ausocitin had recently become like this. Facts pointed to the Ring once again.

And then there were the vials with the Dragon Dust, as Thranduil had dubbed the repulsive explosives. He did not know where Ausocitin had gotten them from, but its purpose alone bothered the Elvenking. He was positive it was the throne Ausocitin was fighting for.

The ex-adviser’s plan had worked well so far. Besiege the stronghold and demand surrender unless the king wanted to see his people starve to death.

Thranduil keeping the throne in itself could have caused a revolt among his dying people should that situation have occurred, for the people were still uneasy after the incident in the North where the Serpent had slaughtered an unnumbered list of elves.

But Ausocitin only needed an army to besiege the stronghold, and he had just that. There was no need for such weapons such as he now held in his possession. Explosives could only do one thing, and that was destroy.

It all clicked together. Ausocitin’s goal was to take the throne for himself. Ausocitin knew Thranduil would storm out of the stronghold, for he most certainly was prepared. He had surrounded the castle, with his mercenaries, probably hired with promise of payment in wealth from the treasury...

Only the treasury was empty— Ausocitin, being adviser, most definitely knew that. He also knew about Mirkwood’s scattered wealth, and had taken the documents and given them to him, saying his people would starve if he did not return with the money. Thranduil would, of course, comply with the terms and collect the money, while Ausocitin demolished what was left of his people. Thranduil would return to the smoking remains of his home and beloved people and Ausocitin would pay his mercenaries...

Thranduil turned over in his bed roll and absently watched his breath cloud in the chilly evening air. He needed a plan. And he needed it quickly.

His musings were interrupted with muffled whimpers coming from Minaitir’s bundle. Thranduil smiled in exasperation. It wouldn’t be long until the little one would become too cold to bear and come crawling to the rest of the elflings. The bundle twitched and spasmed. Thranduil frowned. Minaitir was not simply shivering. Another convulsion let a muffled sob escape the rumpled bundle.

“Minaitir,” Thranduil whispered. No answer. “Minaitir. _Minaitir_! Come here _penneth_!” Another sob erupted from the bundle.

Thranduil reluctantly crawled out of the bedroll and knelt next to Minaitir buried in the large cloak with a huff. He lifted the young Silvan by his shoulders into a sitting position. Minaitir turned away from him and hid his tear-streaked face in his sleeve.

“Go _away_,” Minaitir sobbed. Thranduil sighed and pulled the elfling into his arms, making sure to keep him snugly wrapped in the cloak.

“What’s wrong _penneth_?” he asked gently, letting his brown head rest on his chest as he rubbed soothing circles on his back. Minaitir pulled away but a violent shudder ran through him as he was exposed to the harsh cold and he collapsed back against the older _ellon_. The sobbing intensified.

“_Penneth_?”

“_Don’t call me that!”_ Minaitir yelled hoarsely into Thranduil’s chest. The Sinda’s eyes shot automatically to where the other elflings were sleeping, but they were exhausted and did not even stir.

“Don’t call me that,” he repeated despairingly, his voice a whisper before it melted into more sobs.

The Sinda rocked him gently as more violent shivers wracked the small frame. He carried Minaitir back to his bedroll and crawled inside of it, still holding the distressed child to him.

“I miss ‘im,” the elfling whispered.

“Who?”

“Gindor—my _ada_.” The youngling’s voice was continuously interrupted by sobs. “I—loved him. He was—diff’rent after—after he had to leave _naneth_. But he was jus’ hurting inside; I could feel it in—in ‘im. Sometimes he would get angry and hit me but I didn’ mind! Maybe he wasn’ a very good _ada_ but he was the only one—I had, and I loved him!”

Tears dripped out of Minaitir’s eyes and shone like small diamonds in the moonlight. He rubbed the back of his hand across his freckled features, only to be replaced with another small flood of tears.

“Why’d he have to die?” Minaitir’s voice cracked and he buried his face desperately into Thranduil’s chest. “_Why_...?”

It took a few minutes but the sobs subsided and Minaitir took a few shuddering breaths to calm himself down.

“I’m alright,” he murmured to himself. “I’m fine; I’ll be alright.” He gripped the hilt of his dagger for reassurance; he hadn’t taken it off since the hour it had been given to him. Eventually his murmuring broke off and his breaths evened out; he was asleep.

The Sinda’s heart broke at the young elf’s pleading despair. He hugged the shivering being tighter and stroked his hair. Salty tears had soaked through his tunic, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. Tears stung the back of his own eyes.

Minaitir was a strong elfling. He hadn’t faded after his mother’s death and even suffered to see his father driven mad by grief. And now to confess that he loved— the thought broke off. It was so painful.

And to see the ease he gripped a blade with—how comfortable he was with always being on alert and expecting danger; the fact he knew the truth about orcs and greeted the sting of death like an old friend—this elfling knew too much. He had seen too much.

‘_The elflings clinging to him let out sobs of despair as the armor-clad elves gently pulled them away from him and brushed the petals off their shoulders and began dressing them in hardened leather._

_‘They took the pens and flowers from their hands and instead pressed shining blades of steel into them. The elflings twirled the weapons experimentally. The innocence radiating from them was replaced by the hardened determination that was around the elder elves also._

_‘The children were gone.’_

The children are gone...

oOoOoOo

**A/N: **Consider the mantra in reference to the fact that the people of Greenwood had to take their children off to war with the Shadow at an alarmingly young age; they mourned the innocence lost in the young ones that had been torn away from them by the ceaseless war.


	27. Venom

Chapter 27~ Venom

‘_Then you better hope we won’t get stung,_’ Legolas had said. With merely two persons against a rather large, festering nest of spiders, fate tends to intervene...

Estel lashed out with his blade, desperately repeating what Legolas had told him about fighting these beasts like an incantation that kept his flighty soul tethered to his body.

At first sight, the spiders were frankly quite terrifying. But as the young human triumphed over one foe to the next, his confidence grew.

The creature beside him had seemed to vaporize into a flurry of golden and silver streaks. The sound of his knives twirling through the air sounded almost as gracefully deadly as the elf looked, especially as he threw his upper body backwards to avoid a pair of stingers and plunged a dagger into one of the black obsidian eyes of a beast coming behind him.

The two beasts in front missed their target and could not stop their swift momentum to avoid stabbing their large oozing stingers into each other’s abdomens. All three went down with a unified guttural cry of agony.

Estel sliced through a pair of claw-tipped legs that had come forward, and used the pain as a distraction to lunge forwards and drive the blade into the area behind the spider’s head; one of the few chinks in the monster’s armor-like exoskeleton.

He parried away a swooping stinger. Both weapons met in a metallic clang that made the human wonder what the stinger was even made of. He pivoted gracefully on his heel to meet another attacker, and that is when he saw him.

The elf, jumping onto a pile of three lifeless carcasses, lunged forwards and climbed up the body of a very live spider that had been descending from a strand of it’s silken web from the boughs above.

Legolas climbed, wrestling with the eight prying legs that fought to impale him on it’s little claws all the way. He slid off the beast, dispatching it with a swift stab to the head that resembled the flicking tongue of a snake.

His long legs quickly covered the space between branches and he became a a flash of silver once again, speeding spiders’ descent to the ground by smoothly severing their sticky white anchoring cords. Their frantic chitters and crackling thuds as they met the leaf-littered ground boomed over the rushing of blood in Estel’s ears as he saw what the elf was trying to do.

He ran to tumbling body after tumbling body, killing them off as fast as he could while they were still disoriented from their fall.

Legolas rushed amongst the branches, quickly glancing down to see if the human needed his aid. Blessedly, he didn’t. It soothed the elf some to know that his new friend could at least hold his own; very well at that as well. He moved with pronounced grace that let his tutelage under his brothers and Lord Elrond’s seneschal, Glorfindel, shine through prominently.

But now the human had been reduced in his list of worries. He was nearly there; in the center of the nest.

Spiders were not altogether stupid beasts. Yes, they lacked the intelligence to formulate an organized attack, but their specialties included all of breakfast, luncheon, and supper. Meaning, they had much practice to get the pattern of a warrior’s tendencies and lure them into their sticky traps.

When encountering a spider’s nest, the first thing a warrior thinks of is destroying the source, or the thing that would cause the beasts the most harm and discourage them from the fight, which, logically, was the center of the nest. It was the same mentality that targeted an assassin’s aim to Generals or Captains of higher ranks, because their loss would prove more crippling than that of an ordinary soldier.

Noting this, the spiders usually sent a horde to try and dispatch or decapitate their quarry, while the rest of the spiders stayed in a loose formation around the perimeter of the nest, should the prey target the nest.

The warrior, if he survived the first overwhelming horde, would do everything in his power to destroy the nest, easily breaking through the perimeter and going into the center. Yet little did he know that is where the real danger lay, for near-inescapable webs lined their little fortress. The warrior would eventually trap himself, making an easy meal.

Legolas had been trying to follow the path of the perimeter and at least decapitate the beasts enough for the human below to finish them off. But this was a rather large nest, meaning there were more webs.

Before he really knew what was happening, the elf had been knocked to side by another spider that had barreled down on him from above in higher branches. He quickly regained his bearing by leaping on a thinner limb closer to the center, realizing grimly that is exactly what the beast had wanted. The thin black branch vibrated slightly under his weight, then spasmed violently as three more spiders bore down the same branch, chattering and squealing in anger.

Legolas slashed off a pair of claws and spun to stab another in the eye. Unfortunately, that put the third spider behind him. The tiny limb seized under the combined weight of both creatures, throwing the elf’s pivot slightly off-kilter. His foot slid off the thin beam and plunged thigh-deep into a bouncy sling. His other foot slipped as well in the drastic tip of weight and he clamped the back of his knee over the branch to keep from tipping backwards into the thick net of webs that he was sure awaited him below.

His blood froze; he was unable to bring his leg back up to regain his balance. He was caught.

Legolas’ mind raced as he struggled against the sticky hold and whipped around frantically when he realized the third spider was no longer in front of him. The cursed beast wasn’t behind him either, but more were bearing down on his flank with each passing second.

A faint tightening in his collapsed leg made him look down as he parried a stinger from above. With growing horror he saw the third spider curled around his leg, weaving a thicker net around it and readying itself to tug him into certain demise. He ducked his head to avoid getting his face slashed in half and sank deeper off the branch as it bent under more weight. His knee still draped over the branch was already chin-level. He gritted his teeth in effort, trying to resist another relentless tug.

He caught a glimpse of movement in his periphery, but it was no spider.

A hook-like claw hooked his wrist in his moment of distraction. His blade bounced down the branches and embedded itself in the dirt many feet below. He wrenched his hand away as more beasts—there were approximately ten now— circled him, excited by the smell of blood.

Legolas looked back to Estel, who was now fighting from the limbs. Then it struck him. The prince had always been surrounded by other elves. Citizens, bodyguards, his patrol, they had all protected him. Now he was mostly alone. Suddenly he felt very, very young, and very, very afraid.

It was only Estel. _One man_. The human could not save Legolas; it was questionable if the man could even save himself from this dandy predicament.

Perhaps Estel had become suddenly inattentive in spotting the elf’s predicament, or the Valar decided to humor him with his recent thought.

Legolas thought the latter was more likely, for a rather ugly and larger spider slowly began to descend behind the human. A sharp pain bloomed in Legolas’ knee that was still futilely trying to hold him to the flimsy branch. He slipped farther down and warm blood trickled through his leggings.

He gave a longing look to the blade in his hand, then back to the unaware human as he picked his way closer to his new friend. He drew the blade back and let it fly. It sliced through the air, embedding itself in the beast’s eye. Estel whirled around in time to witness the lifeless body of a spider tipping over the branch he stood on. He gripped the hilt sticking out of the spider’s head and held on tight as the weapon wrenched itself free as the monstrosity fell.

He stared at it in disbelief for a moment before furiously resuming his charge on the beasts that surrounded his friend. With growing horror, he saw that Legolas had just used his last weapon to save him, leaving nothing but his bow to defend himself, but even that was uselessly strapped to his back.

Legolas did not really need it, however, for the spiders had ceased their attempts to lash at him and instead danced around him, spinning webs around his slipping body. His elbows were already pinned against him with webs and shivers went down his spine as the sticky webs twirled around his neck and brushed his cheek like plaster. His hands gripped the branch in a white-knuckled grip, trying to pull himself up and keep his leg draped over the branch so the spiders could not string his ankles together and leave him with no means of landing safely.

Their small claws rained down on his fingers and knee, their wheezing breath harsh in his ears as he stared into their adder-like eyes with despair. How he wanted to be home!

He slid his hand down the branch to avoid it being skewered and jerked painfully as a claw found it’s mark in his knee and twisted, tearing at the tissue. He reached forwards to yank out the claw, his breath fast and wobbly against the pain.

Looking back on this moment, Legolas might’ve said he could avoided what came next had he been aware of it sooner, but in reality so many webs strung him together, he would have helpless against the needle-like stinger, oozing with a black tar-ish ichor swinging down towards him.

Excruciating pain erupted in his side and shot through his nerves. His veins were on fire and his vision blurred with moisture as a scream tore his throat through his gritted teeth. He moaned again as the beast jerked the stinger into him harsher, the sickening grating noice of the metallic-like stinger grinding against his ribs making his stomach want to revolt.

More fire spread through him and he let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding as the stinger jerked out. His fingers trembled and tears leaked from his eyes and made tracks on his sooty face as he struggled against the cloying black tendrils of sweet oblivion.

His leg was slipping. More webs whirled around and around. He couldn’t see! He couldn’t breathe!

_Elbereth, help—!_

Legolas tossed his head to the side and tore some of the string from his face, but it did not help the ominous tightening around his chest. He struggled for air and released a hand to claw at his neck. He needed to breathe! A red haze was glazing his vision as the fire pulsed in his head and warm blood gushed out of his side.

Estel stared in horror at the struggling elf. Anger quickly heated his face and strengthened his weary limbs. He could almost hear Glorfindel’s authoritative baritone admonish him, ‘_A clear head is a head still attached to your shoulders. Do not let emotion control your actions.’ _

Estel closed his eyes for a second to clear his mind. Being reckless would not be a help to either of them now. The silver orbs reopened with a deadly determination that could put his brothers’ to shame.

Aragorn sheathed his sword and tucked Legolas’ dagger in his belt. He crouched down with taut limbs vibrating with the motion the writhing beasts created as they crowded closer to the sudden abundance of sweet blood in anticipation.

Sensing the right moment, he lunged forwards, kicking away slashing claws and resisting the need to cover his ears against the grating, furious shrieks the spiders emitted as he wooshed past them and barreled into the dangling elf, unsettling his hold on the branch. They crashed through layers and layers of web netting to the forest floor. The webs had not been thick enough to support the human; apparently not many humans ever wandered this forest.

The blond creature let out a heart-twisting yell as Aragorn circled his arms around the elf’s middle to hold him to himself as they tumbled down, down, down. To his horror, his hand came in contact with the unmistakable tainting wetness of flowing blood.

A split-second after they hit the ground, Aragorn picked up the other dagger from where it had stuck in the ground and stowed it safely in it’s sheath. After adjusting his grip on the elf’s light body, ran as if the very hounds of Morgoth were chasing him, which, in grim reality was not all that wrong.

His legs pumped faster and faster, his energy feeding off the seemingly endless adrenaline store in his gut as a desperate fear and urgency gave his feet wings.

Minutes passed and Estel’s lungs began to burn with a fierce fire that spewed down to his legs. Beads of exertion dribbled down his brow and he panted with great heaves of air that jostled Legolas’ limp head against his shoulder.

The elf had blessedly passed out sometime ago. His painful moans and whimpers had had been becoming too much for Estel, especially since he knew slowing down could end with them being wound up in webs like some nice, meaty dumplings.

The webs twined around the elf were disgusting to the touch and he could not imagine how horrible it might feel to be covered in them as his friend was. He vowed to get the repulsive, sticky string off his friend as soon as they could afford a respite in their flight.

The human was also growing steadily concerned by the blood seeping out of Legolas’ side. He had pressed his hand against what felt to be a stab wound in a primitive attempt to staunch the bleeding. He refused to let his mind think on what could happen if this was more serious than he initially thought.

His arms trembled from being held in one position for so long and he cast a wary glance over his shoulder, though the creatures had stopped following them several minutes before. It never hurt to be safe. He let his mind replay the instructive tone of Glorfindel’s charming voice.

Few minutes later, he was ready to drop. But he could not stop running. ‘_Never assume, Estel. Never.’_

His legs screamed at him that maybe they were gone, just this once. Their violent trembling told him he needed to tend to Legolas, but he knew that was the flesh’s excuse for wanting so desperately to stop.

So focused was he on keeping the precious bundle secure in his arms and keeping his legs pumping, Aragorn failed to notice that the trees had thinned out considerably since encountering the nest, as had the spread shadow that bore down above him. The next thing he knew was the rushing of wind in his ears as scaled talons curled around him and lifted him off the ground. A relieved smile broke the determination on his grimy face.

The Eagle. The Eagle had come.

They rose above the treetops, and Estel hugged Legolas to himself tighter as guttural chittering and furious squeaking erupted from the shadows of the trees below. He smiled himself and mentally thanked Glorfindel.

_Dumplings indeed!_

They were alright. They would be alright. He laughed aloud in shaking relief, unaware of the taut fear that had gripped him until it had been released.

“_Namarië_, filthy spawn of Ungoliant!” he yelled gleefully into the sky.

He leaned down to the limp figure in his arms. He tried to ignore the disturbingly white pallor of his face and gushed to him excitedly.

“We did it! We have prevailed over the wretched creatures!” The human laughed breathily into the elf’s delicate ear. “We did it,” he said, his voice stretched by the grin on his lips and breathless from the refreshing exhilaration of flying.

Aragorn watched the shifting landscape below them. The trees thinned drastically. He enjoyed the light feel of freedom and the rush of wind in his hair. They crossed the eastern border of Mirkwood, and the Eagle began to descend, probably sensing Estel’s need to tend to Legolas immediately.

They touched down gracefully in a spiral of wind as the great bird let them down and ruffled it’s feathers in exhilaration.

Estel gently placed the motionless elf in a patch of scrubby grass, conveniently away from any of the equally scrubby trees that dotted the area, lest contact with it should waken the poor, wounded creature; Estel did not want Legolas to be awake for his checkup.

Prying the web-coated elf from his arms was a different matter entirely. The web seemed to have little claws that cloyed onto his clothing and refused to let go. Eventually, he was able to peel himself away.

He cut the webs off Legolas with disgusted vigor. The crawling sensation on his skin as he touched the stuff did not recede but seemed to get worse as he continued to rip it away from the elf’s limp body. He shivered as the very thought of that stuff touching his face or wind around his neck as it had done with his friend.

With shaking hands, Estel undid the clasps of the blood-soaked tunic and grimaced. A small hole was punctured in Legolas’ torso, right under his rib cage. It was already surrounded by angry red scar tissue; his elven healing working frantically to seal the spewing wound. Black tendrils underneath the skin stretched out from the puncture like black lighting forking across a white sky, spreading in all directions.

It was the venom. It turned the color of his veins from a delicate violet to pulsating black ichor and clawed forward over his body, reaching for his neck.

His lips nearly blended in with the deathly white pallor of his face and his un-dirtied golden locks pooled around him like the sun’s tender rays; the only natural color about the Sinda.

Aragorn frantically tore strips from his cloak and soaked them with water from his water skin, pressing them to the wound to stop the bleeding while trying to cleanse it with the little that was left in his water skin.

He had no healing supplies, no anti-venom, and knew next to nothing about how to handle his friend’s current condition. He looked worriedly to where Legolas lay, seemingly boneless and dead, a brownish stain growing on the dark grey strip of Aragorn’s cloak wrapped around his torso. His eyes were still closed.

Estel proceeded to tend to the elf’s cut knee and sighed, looking to the darkening sky. He shivered and pinned the remnant of his cloak over his shoulders and looked longingly to the scattered pieces of dead branches strewn across the ground. He dared not light a fire, for he did not recognize the area Eagle had decided to land, and knew not if it belonged to friend or foe. Him and Legolas were in no condition to meet any other beasts of darkness at the moment either.

The Eagle had nestled itself under a large scrub and dozed.

Not even an hour had passed when Legolas’ brow twisted in distress and he elicited a pained moan. Aragorn rushed to his side; he had just finished putting everything back into their packs.

The human gently cupped the elf’s face in hand and cursed at the heat radiating from his skin. He noticed now that his cheeks had flushed a blush of red and his forehead glistened with a thin sheen of perspiration; rather unnatural for one of the Firstborn.

Once again shaking with dread, Estel tore the makeshift bandage from the elf’s middle and probed at the wound. He muttered an apology as Legolas moaned again, louder.

He relaxed slightly to see that everything was as it should be; there was no sign that it was an infection that caused the fever. He re-wrapped the bandage, folding it over so that the area that would cover the wound was clean.

He felt the Eagle’s large eyes on his back twisted on his heels to face the tension radiating from the bird. It’s eyes were wide, head cocked to the side and neck straight with lifted feathers, attentive and listening.

“What do you sense?” Estel whispered, his hands hovering over his friend’s chest, grimacing at the irregular shuddering rise and fall.

The Eagle did not answer and it’s head whipped the other direction, eyes wider. It quickly got to it’s feet. Aragorn’s alarm grew. He moved to put Legolas’ tunic back on.

The Eagle lowered itself and spread it’s wings, neck feathers ruffled out.

“They are coming!” it whispered hoarsely. “I cannot stay!”

Legolas moaned and attempted to speak but it only came out as a muffled croak and he turned his head to the side with a wince; the only movement from him since the incident.

Estel’s wide eyes darted from Legolas to the Eagle, as large and silver as a full moon. “What—?”

“I cannot help you! They are coming; I must fly!”

“No! Don’t leave us! We cannot face any other dangers alone!”

The Eagle danced nervously. “I must fly! They cannot see me!”

The Eagle bunched it’s muscles for take-off.

Estel’s heart raced as he fumbled with the catches on Legolas’ tunic. The elf took in a large gasp of breath and his eyes snapped open, glazed in a fevered pain.

“Listen to me!” Estel cried. “You must find the king!” The Eagle lifted off the ground with a great woosh of air. “_Find the king!_” Aragorn yelled to the gliding creature as it became smaller and smaller with distance.

His attention snapped back to Legolas who once again tried to speak. The whisper died in his throat and he blinked harshly. He was still gasping for breath but he seemed unable to move any other part of his body. His brow was still twisted in distress and his eyes were troubled.

“E-Es-te-el,” he finally managed to croak.

“What is it?” The human’s voice was hurried and eyes frightened; taut as a bowstring.

“S-so—“ Estel’s heart sped up like a racehorse in the final stretch.

“What is it!? Legolas, _speak_!”

The elf’s brow furrowed in cross frustration. “Som-ething draws ne-ar.”

Aragorn turned sharply to scan his surroundings and strained to catch any unordinary sounds; he was met with nothing but the wind sighing through the prairie sod.

He knelt back down and clutched Legolas’ shoulders. “What do you hear?”

“I—“

“Time is of the essence, else you be the death of me! Pray _speak_!” He had never been this close. Never. The bloodied form of his father played through his mind.

Legolas’ eyes flashed despite their glazed appearance and he struggled to draw breath. “I-I cannot move!”

Aragorn shook his shoulders in frustration, wrenching a cry of pain from the injured elf. “_What do you hear?!”_

A red haze covered the prince’s vision and tried in vain to move his arms. Pain stole his breath and shot through him like fire.

“It—i—“ He choked as a black liquid stained his lips.

Nearly sobbing in fear, Estel pulled down the collar of Legolas’ tunic after glancing around him once again. The black tendrils of poison darkened the life-vein in his neck and began to make little black starbursts on his cheeks. Estel turned him on his side and let him spit out the venom pooling in his throat.

He scooped the elf up in his arms and cradled his head, glancing around fearfully. The fate of being tormented to death by some dark beasts terrified him beyond anything else.

He slung on his pack and began to run in any mindless direction. Legolas’ eyes glistened with all the jerking movements and he finally managed to curl his fingers into Aragorn’s sleeve. He tried to speak again but was interrupted with a pained gasp.

“S-low!”

Estel’s fearful eyes stayed on the road ahead and the elf could feel him weakening drastically.

“E-ste-l! _La-sto nin!”_

The human glanced down at him but continued to plow ahead. They jolted again and a yelp escaped his lips. His vision was darkening and he would surely lose consciousness if they continued on like this.

“Hush! We must flee else we be torn to pieces!”

“N-not or-cs!” Legolas whispered frantically.

The silver eyes shot down to him. “What?”

“_Daro_! It’s— not—orcs!” he finally managed.

Aragorn stopped abruptly. The elf hissed and he muttered an apology.

“Well then what is it?”

He was well aware of trampling footsteps that encased them from all sides. His heart pounded.

“N-not evil.”

The human relaxed somewhat. That sounded better. He hoped.

People started streaming from the trees. Men. Estel’s relief was short-lived.

Apparently, Legolas had noticed this as well, for he bucked slightly and reached a trembling hand to where his knives were supposed to be, apprehension sweeping through him as he felt neither his knives nor his quiver. He could barely move much less fight, but the familiar feel and weight of a weapon was comforting and that was something he craved desperately.

Aragorn cursed with trembling breath and managed to draw his sword despite the bundle draped over his arms. He would be darned if he let anyone further harm the prince.

Several men rushed him at a time and he clumsily swung his sword. Instead of taking advantage of his vulnerability and skewering him, one of the men merely parried away his thrust and unexpectedly yanked the elf out of his arms.

His cry of surprise mingled with the Sinda’s cry of pain. The blade was wrenched from his hands and they were secured behind him. He strained to see what was happening to Legolas.

Blackness threatened the Elda’s bleary vision, and his temporary state of paralysis infuriated him as he was pulled away from Estel, helpless against their fate.

He prayed to the Valar he hadn’t just condemned his kingdom to rule under a tyrannical usurper and bucked feebly.

Voices of different tenors swam around him and he could feel himself fading away. His squeezed his eyes closed and braced himself against the pain of being jostled around by this stranger.

A deeper, harsher baritone made its way through his smeared reality and he slightly jumped at how it grated insensitively against his hearing. He faintly recalled Estel shouting in the background and felt the cool hardness of the ground beneath his back as he was lowered. He was absently aware of the venom pooling in his throat again and trickling from his lips.

Rough, calloused hands brushed his forehead and he struggled to see what was happening around him. The fingers pulled at his eyelids as a hand pressed his bruised rib and pain welcomed the sinking blackness descending over him.

The last thing he saw was a bright flash of light as his eye was pulled open and a wavering face with a full black beard as he fell into darkness and knew no more.

So caught up in struggling was Aragorn, that he failed to notice the other beings that had graced the human patrol with their presence until now. He shouted and fought more fiercely when he caught a glimpse of a familiar shock of glistening golden hair sprawled on the ground and a stout figure hunched over him.

He yelled again in protest as Legolas was blocked from his vision. A muffled order sounded and the men holding him let him see his elven friend.

He was now able to get a good glimpse at the new creatures that had joined them. His heart lurched in surprise as a scowling, thickly-black-bearded face looked up from where the elf lay. His demeanor matched the other new beings in form and in stature, and Aragorn was immediately frozen in shock.

Dwarves.

He knew not if their presence would mean good or ill for them. The way their luck was going, probably ill. He had no more time to ponder this as he was struck from behind and embraced by oblivion.

oOoOoOo


	28. The Doorstep of Mandos

Chapter 28~ The Doorstep of Mandos

Legolas could have described his return to consciousness similar to the pleasant experience of slogging through a waist-deep swamp of thick mud.

Darkness cloyed at his mind; sound was first to return to him. Voices buzzed about him.

Pain came next. It shot through his side, ricocheted in his head and lanced back down to his knee.

There were hands. They were the same rough texture, but handled with a forced gentleness and concentration. A sharp pain lanced through his side again and he arched his back and tried to escape the sting. Dynamite exploded in his skull and he heard someone emit a loud groan, and absently recognized himself to be the one to have made the sound.

The buzz of voices rose in volume in urgency as he moved. More rough hands pushed him down and he stilled; it hurt too much to protest.

The pain stung again and he reflexively jerked away from it. The hands reappeared and stayed this time as the stings continued periodically.

“He shouldn’t be awake so soon!”

“Are you sure you gave him enough, Healer? He’s elfkind, so mebbe it works different.”

“I gave him enough for nearly two men!”

Legolas squirmed again as throbbing replaced the numbness in his limbs.

“Ho! Hold him there, I need to finish stitching this ‘fore he wakes.”

“Too late,” a gruffer third voice commented, “he’s already awake.”

Legolas pulled his laden eyelids open with far too much effort than should be necessary. Bright lights shone unkindly in his face and the world blurred and spun threateningly about him. He immediately squeezed his eyes shut again to escape the nausea. Another moan escaped his lips.

_Estel?_

“Oh, move off, boys! You’re a sorry sight for sore eyes. Let me get to the child a‘fore you scare the little fawn with your unkempt, scruffy faces. He may think you bears!”

The deeper voices grumbled a protest but the latter female voice effectively shooed them out of the tent with a last blast of air.

It took much less effort to pry his eyes open a second time, and Legolas was grateful for it. Any precaution had abandoned him until now. He knew not what his situation was, and his last memories were fevered and fuzzy.

The face that met him was not Estel. In fact, it wasn’t even a Man. It was a dwarrowdam; a female dwarf.

Despite legend, she did not have a beard; this one didn’t anyways. The dwarrowdam had a round, full, pleasant face her cheeks were flushed and hair disheveled during her care for her unexpected elven patient. Though she had no wrinkles save the laugh lines around her eyes, Legolas could tell she was older. About 55 in human reckoning.

He let his eyes wander the tent. The prior flapping of the canvas had informed him of his general accommodations, but he knew that might change depending on whether he would still be considered a guest or not.

A low wooden shelf filled with medical supplies and his weapons was the only thing— besides the cot he was laying on— in the room he could see.

“My, my, I’d a-been wonderin’ what color those eyes of yours were. At first I had been guessing a deep, rustic green, like the towering pines near the mountain, but then I says to myself that you looked too bright and cheery to have such dark eyes. I finally decided on a nice light blue.” Her voice was rolling and strong, and the refined words she used clashed with her lilting accent.

She talked very expressively and her merry eyes twinkled with a young mischief that was usually extinguished in others her age.

“Now I can see I was right.” She smiled widely and looked to the ceiling of the tent, reminiscing. “Like a clear river or sky of snowy clouds about to shower on us folk below.” Her gaze returned to him. The smile seemed glued permanently to her face.

Legolas thought she seemed pleasant enough, but much was deceiving that way. He remained cautious and scrambled to a sitting position when she reached for him. The movement sent more waves of agony through him and he gasped, the color draining from his face. Pressure began to build in his head and the world briefly spun again.

The dwarrowdam recoiled and fidgeted in distress. The ever-present smile flipped and her glistening brow creased worriedly.

“Oh child, I wouldn’ hurt you!” She must have noticed his arms stretched out behind him to keep himself propped up had begun to tremble violently, and bustled over to catch him right before his arms buckled.

“Oh, here I go muttering unsavory poetics while you poor creature—“ he didn’t hear the rest.

Once his head stopped spinning, he reached for his side. The stitches were not what he was used to, and he could almost call them crude, if they had not been so neat.

The dwarrowdam fidgeted nervously in protest when he fingered his wound but came no closer. It seemed she was used to being in control, but was trying to be sensitive.

_Estel? Where was he?_

Her voice appeared at his head.

“Do you have a name, little fawn?”

She was notably more somber and he wished he had imagined the small prick of disappointment that he had saddened her.

The pressure throbbed in his head and he failed to respond. He was starting to get worried about his silly human, but did not want to betray his relations to him, lest whosever custody they were in would use them against each other. It felt strange to say he missed Estel and was rather uncomfortable and worried without him.

“Child? I know you can speak.”

The throbbing continued. He wrinkled his brow crossly. Everything was too bright, too loud, too rough...

He flinched away from the cloth soaked in cold water when it landed on his forehead, and immediately regretted it as his aches and pains became more prominently known once more.

“Now come, star. You will have to talk soon. Healer needs to know what poison you managed to get into yourself here.” She rubbed the coarse cloth over the dark veins running over him in concern.

It was then he realized he was shirtless and this was in fact a female dwarf. Elleth healers did care for him as well, but he clumsily pulled the covers up to his chin to try and hide the light flush that dusted his cheeks nevertheless.

The dwarrowdam laughed. It was a clear, pleasant sound, like a rushing spring or a tolling bell welcoming home battle-weary soldiers. But it was loud and that caused Legolas to recoil crossly.

_Too loud, too bright, Estel get me out of here!_

The pulsing traveled down through his whole body and intensified, leaving him gasping for every throb. Strangely enough, his side was completely numb and he now clawed at it.

A thought sprouted in his mind. He fought the swimming murk, and tossed his head in frustration. The voice was back, ringing in his ears and stunning him. He could not recall the thought, but knew it was a very important one.

The blanket was whipped off him and the rough hands prodded his side. He could feel blood leaking through the stitches. The blurry shape of the dwarrowdam frantically wrapped a bandage around his middle and tugged it tight before rushing out of the tent with a cold blast of air.

He grasped the thought.

His caretakers did not know what kind of poison was in him. They treated him how they knew best for any other kind of poison until he could tell them what happened. Venom needed nearly the exact opposite treatment than most basic poisons. It needed to be drained out of the victim and not trapped inside.

The anti-venom helped separate the venom from the blood to prevent drastic blood loss. The black veins running over his skin had darkened. The venom had nowhere to go.

Another blast of cold air signified several persons’ entrances.

He cast a spinning glance to his weapons on the shelf and immediately knew what he had to do.

Clawing at his side, he tumbled off the cot.

The voices rose in pitch and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to ward off the pain. The hands grappled his arms but he pushed them away and began to drag himself to the shelf, keeping his eyes fixed on the blurred shine of silver. His limbs trembled violently and his movements were sluggish from the trapped venom.

It seemed to have taken ages of fighting before he felt the cold yet comforting hilt of the dagger in his hand. Someone was dragging him up and others were trying to wrestle the weapon from his grasp.

Legolas angled the knife to himself and managed to cut the bandages away. The voices rose again and he gritted his teeth in attempt to keep hold of his consciousness and ready himself for the shocking pain of re-opening the wound.

The arms holding him tried to haul him back onto the cot, but the elf was making it anything but easy. Someone was about to succeed in tearing the blade away from his hand and he stamped hard on any available limb. It ended up being the right move, for the pressure on his hand disappeared, but he had used his bad leg for the kick and it pained him mercilessly.

The elf surged forward again, but only ended up tumbling over the body of the very man he had just kicked.

He crashed to the ground and the knife went skittering from his hand. He heaved in great gulps of air and couldn’t stop a cry from escaping him. He lay still as possible, his heart racing as it became harder and harder to breathe.

Spots danced in his vision as it cleared somewhat and several faces came into view. He felt more bitter venom rising from his throat but valiantly prevented himself from coughing, for that kind of pain would undoubtedly send him reeling into unconsciousness.

“He’s mad!”

“Should we carry him back to the cot?”

“Give him a moment.”

“He’ll fight again.”

It was the dwarrowdam this time. “_Ai_! Blood is running from his mouth!”

“That ain’t blood. It’s almost black.”

“It’s the blasted poison! I don’t know what it is!”

Blinding pain exploded in his side even as he lay still as his body’s defenses wore out. He screamed until his throat was sore.

It sent him reeling to the tiniest brink of awareness and the only thing he saw was a blood red haze covering his vision. The roaring of blood in his ears masked the racket of the men and dwarves shouting for supplies.

It felt like he was separating from himself, and that was when he knew he needed to complete his task or it would be the last thing he ever did. The venom was consuming and paralyzing him from the inside and it was only a matter of time before his system shut down completely.

Resolve rose, and numbing himself against the pain, he lunged for his knife.

oOo

The scream was the end of the line for Estel. He had been listening to the pathetic cries of his elven friend for the past few moments and could now bear it no longer. His plan of getting both of them to escape was rubbish now but he couldn’t let Legolas suffer any longer.

He pushed out of the chair he had previously been tied in and swung the rope across one of the vigils’ faces, effectively stunning him. The other man lunged at him, but Estel swiftly stepped away at the last moment and left the attacker to crash to his own devices. Wielding the knife he had snatched from one of their belts, he ran towards the tent he knew his elf was being so called treated in.

Mere seconds after he barged in, he caught a glimpse of the glint of steel and blackish blood spilling over Legolas’ white skin. One sight stopped him from stabbing everyone in the room, and that was the blood-stained elven dagger pointed downward and clenched in the elf’s hand.

Estel slid to the elf’s side, hands trembling. The other occupants of the tent gathered around him but did not touch them, obviously in shock at his sudden barrage.

Legolas’ eyes were closed and his face ashen. The lips of the wound had remnants of stitches in them and were an angry red color and inflamed, though it was hard to tell with all the blood gushing out of his side. Most of it was venom, but not all of it.

Some of the in the tent had let out a cry when the elf had turned the knife on himself and Estel could hear the words ‘mad’ and ‘elf’ being muttered along with a few oaths.

Aragorn turned towards them crossly. “_Well!_ Are you simply going to let him bleed out into the earth? Let’s get him up!”

They seemed stunned for a few moments that this boy had begun to order them around, then decided he was right and made a move to help.

They gently bore the limp form of the elf back up onto the cot. One of the humans settled down beside him and mopped away the blackish blood from the afflicted area.

“Hildor?”

“The knife was clean, Healer. No worries there.”

The _adan_ bending over Legolas grunted in reply and barked out orders for another needle to be strung for him to seal the wound back up.

“Do you think that is wise?” Estel inquired.

The _adan_ looked up at him, an impatient question in his eyes.

“Well, don’t you think all the trouble he took to reopen it meant something?” he prodded.

The adan looked to Hildor who was standing near the foot of the bed. The black-bearded dwarf standing at the entrance harrumphed into his beard and crossed his arms.

“He’s mad,” Hildor stated, his tone blunt.

The healer nodded as if this were the only logical answer and took the proffered needle from Hildor.

“Wait!” Estel pushed past the dwarf and rushed to the Healer’s side.

“He’s losing blood!” the black bearded dwarf said urgently, casting an angry look to Estel for interfering.

“Nari is right, move off boy! I don’t have to be doing this right now!” the healer said angrily.

Hildor narrowed his eyes and stalked closer to Estel. “You’re not even supposed to be here, boy, so I suggest—“

He was cut off with a sharp cry from the healer who had just begun to thread the needle through a lip of the wound. A pale hand was clenched around the adan’s needle arm, stopping him from stitching the elf back up.

“_Don’t_,” Legolas rasped, and let out a rattling cough that sent more of the black venom splattering on his lips. “Let it drain.”

“Legolas!” Estel cried happily as he ran up to his friend. Hildor made a move to stop him, but was stopped by the dwarf’s meaty arm. He looked questioningly down at the dwarf, who only shook his head.

A small smile spread on the elf’s face.

“But the bleeding!” Estel suddenly blurted.

“I would rather lose blood than have this venom devour me from the inside.” Legolas rasped out another weak cough.

“But you’ve lost too much already, star!” said the dwarrowdam worriedly. She had been staying out of the way in the corner of the tent, wringing her hands and repeatedly wiping the blood off Legolas’ knife in anxiety.

Legolas clutched his side and peeled away the cloth he had been holding to it to soak up the blood to check the color. The cloth came away nearly completely black. Only thin trickle of scarlet seeped out. That was good. The bulk of the poison had already left his system. Now was a good time to seal the wound back up.

There was still a bit of venom left but he would rely on the strength of his body to clear it. He did not think he could afford to lose anymore blood in his uncertain condition. He had not enjoyed the doorstep of Mandos one bit.

“That’s quite enough now,” said the healer in a clipped tone. “I don’t intend to watch you bleed to death. Not on my watch.”

Legolas had been about to ask just that, but he let the healer take charge anyhow. Trying to ignore the familiar sting of the needle, he closed his eyes and wished his nausea away. He was asleep within the minute.

Estel watched his friend worriedly beside the cot. The dwarrowdam had taken leave of the tent to help with meal preparations and undoubtedly gossip about what had happened with the two strange newcomers.

The young human shot a glare at Hildor who was eyeing him suspiciously from the opposite side of the tent.

The dwarf had been standing at the entrance of the enclosure, warding off any humans searching for Estel and informing them that their captive was just fine under his care. Aragorn appreciated it, and hoped Hildor was no exception for the dwarf, for Aragorn had no intention of leaving Legolas’ side.

Said dwarf let out another harrumph. “I must take leave, Healer. You will manage fine without me, I imagine?”

The healer looked up from tying the last knot in the newly wrapped bandages and smiled wryly at the dwarf.

“Quite fine, thank you. Off to battle those buzzards for that gold again?”

The dwarf rolled his eyes. “I say we just let you blasted Men have it. I’ve lost track of how many centuries we’ve been squabbling over it. I’m tired of this fight.”

Hildor raised an eyebrow. “A dwarf denying that he wants a claim to a hearty pile of gold? My, this is new!” he laughed.

The dwarf growled at the mens’ laughter, then just shook his head and took leave of the tent.

Aragorn looked curiously after him. “Dwarves and Men live together in this town?”

Hildor answered. “Not exactly. The dwarves lodge here during the trading season to be closer to Laketown. There’s no room there, you see.”

Estel nodded thoughtfully. “Then what is this fight over gold?”

This time the healer took up the tale.

“The wealth was placed here several centuries ago. At the time, it had been placed under the custody of the Men living here. They were forbidden to use it and were paid a certain amount yearly in turn to keep it safe.

“It was just a small pioneer town at the time, you see, and it had been a harsh winter. The town had not yet developed trade with any other settlements yet, and were vainly looking for ways that they would not to starve out in the winter.

“But that was when a party of dwarven merchants passed through and gave the people the food and supplies they needed to outlast the winter if they could, in turn, stay a few weeks, and would ask for repayment later. The dwarves then continued to lodge here nearly every winter and eventually someone remembered what had happened previously and asked for payment in the form of the gold.

“We, of course, would not part with it, for it was not ours to give away, but the dwarves then countered that it was their own doing the town did not die off that first winter, and that they brought trade to us as well. That was true, of course, but we did not relent, claiming the gold was not ours and we had no right to give it away, which we don’t.”

“Mostly because it is rather a handsome sum,” intervened Hildor with an impish grin.

The healer rolled his eyes. “Yes, that too, now hush and let me finish. Anyhow, it is still unknown to this day who the gold belongs to, for the documents entitling this town to the wealth had been destroyed in a fire. The town counsel meets every year on this matter, but the conflict on who the gold rightfully belongs to has never been solved. Nari is one of the head chairmen for the dwarves.”

“Do you have any idea on who sent the gold in the first place?” Estel asked curiously.

“None,” Hildor said quickly. Too quickly.

“Oh come now, man! He’s just a boy! If we don’t tell him now, he will pester us ever-more. I don’t even see why we bothered to take him in the first place,” the healer said, which was entirely true.

Estel had a strange inkling that there was more to this century-old conflict than meets the eye, and would very much enjoy pestering these folks, now that he knew they were not hostile and meant them no harm.

“You took me because I would not leave my elf,” Estel said rather matter-of-factly, his chin tilted up in what could be called defiance. “And you wanted to help him.”

Hildor burst out laughing. “Your elf is he? It doesn’t seem like you have been taking very good care of him I’m afraid.”

Estel gave him a sour look.

The healer looked up from the concoction he had been mixing as if lost in thought. “Where did you find this elf anyways?”

“Uhh, I wandered into a uh spider’s nest in Mirkwood, and he saved me,” which, in it’s entirety was not all that wrong, though Estel would have liked to argue that it had really happened the other way around. But then they would know he was lying for sure.

“Is your family part of that troop that went crashing through there a couple weeks ago?” asked Hildor. “They’re mad too, I say. Angering those creatures with their useless pointy sticks. Elves is bad luck.” He gave a disdainful sniff.

“It was more like a month ago,” corrected the healer. “It was spider’s venom then,” he mused to himself quietly. “Strange thing, it is. I have never seen it before.” He looked down at Legolas in a new light. He was curious.

Estel wrinkled his brow. Did he mean the human rebels? Most likely.

“No sir, I had just been passing through,” he said slowly. Hildor huffed and rolled his eyes in a ‘_yeah, right_’ gesture. _I am rather young to travel alone I suppose,_ Estel thought irritably.

The _Edain_ in the room whirled abruptly when the same dwarf crashed through the entrance, panting.

_“By Mahal’s_ glittering anvil! I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before!” he cried.

“Pray tell, master dwarf!” the healer said.

“Look! By my beard, look! This is what I found in that dratted elf’s quiver!”

Estel growled softly under his breath at the prospect of these strangers snooping in their things, but leaned forward to take a peek at what lay in the dwarf’s hand.

He held his hand out flat, a shining gold coin with a simple crest of leaves stamped into it. Estel recognized it as the standard imprint on elvish currency, but said nothing.

“That’s very nice, Nari, now get to the point if you will,” said Hildor impatiently.

“Remember that thief that had managed to get away with a small pouch of that gold last decade? And he decided to make a run for it and managed to get himself tripped and spill the gold all over the street? Well it was nothing like what our gold pieces looked like, and I ain’t never seen anything like them until I saw this. You better get that elf up quick, ‘cause we just ‘bout cracked this nut!”

Hildor had made a small sound of protest when the dwarf had begun his rampage of words, and Estel guessed it was what the healer had been wanting to tell him earlier.

Before anyone could get a word in edgewise, the dwarf was out of the tent, clutching the gold piece excitedly.

oOoOoOo


	29. Oblivious Advances

**Character refresh!**

Feren... Captain of the Royal Guard and one of Thranduil’s little trio

Galion... the king’s butler/secretary; another piece of Thranduil’s trio

Filendis... the royal Master Healer, father of Estella and Fararth (two of the elflings that are currently with Thranduil)

Helmeren... Filendis’ wife

Aldaner... assistant healer to Filendis and Feren’s mother as well as somewhat of a mother-figure to the other members of the trio

Denisale... the rogue elven captain

Gindorelle... the deceased rogue General and father to...

Minaitir... the only orphaned elfling accompanying Thranduil

Haldaner... a general and father to...

Helgilion... another elfling accompanying the king

Dorthion... a member of the Royal Guard who is erm, subtly smitten with Tauriel

Evlani... a red-haired woman working with Ausocitin

Gilgan... the human rebels’ messenger boy, son of Evlani and guilty of posing as an imposter to Estel in earlier chapters

Chapter 29~ Oblivious Advances

Elrond’s eyes darkened. Dorthion’s revelation of what had come to light troubled him deeply. A Ring of Power, however insignificant, was no mere thing to be trifled with.

“And you said you do not know of the whereabouts of several other persons besides the king, the _ernil_ and my son?” the elven lord inquired.

The young ellon flinched slightly, as if the reality of his failure stung him physically. He had spent the better part of a few hours second guessing himself, wondering that maybe in his haste to get Tauriel professional help, failed to thoroughly search for the missing persons. The weight of guilt sunk his heart at the thought that anything should happened to any of them, especially his own king, who was his first and foremost priority.

“Yes— sir,” Dorthion, the young member of the Royal Guard, hesitated. He was used to referring to his authorities as ‘my Lord’, but Lord Elrond was not, in fact, his Lord. His Lords were of the House of Oropher only.

“We have lost track of a general and the king’s Master Healer along with his lady wife. Several elflings have gone missing as well and have not yet been found. We fear they have been lost in the forest, for the stronghold has been combed through very efficiently.” Dorthion hung his head. His voice was soft and barren, the usually bright baritone extinguished.

“Several other elves have also gone missing. We do not have any specific information yet, but any remaining able-bodied soldiers are working full time to see to their whereabouts. As far as we know, they are mostly _ellyth_ and children.”

Elrond looked down at his folded hands and was about to ask another question when the red-haired elleth on the bed squinted and scrunched her nose, tossing her head to the side fitfully before cracking the bright orbs of leaf green open.

“Tauriel?” Dorthion asked softly. His eyes swam with such tender concern Elrond couldn’t help but smile despite the frustrating turn of events.

The _elleth_ turned her head towards the familiar voice and a quiet smile spread on her sooty face.

Healer Aldaner leaned on the doorframe, her arms laden with a basket of salves and dressings requested by Lord Elrond. Her eyes met the Noldo Lord’s and she entered the room.

“What happened?” Tauriel said, her voice rough from her screams and sobs. She appraised her surroundings and looked mildly surprised at the fresh linen-swathed beds standing vigil around the airy healing ward. Elrond recalled grimly where she, by law, _should_ be right now.

“There was an explosion—“ Dorthion started, but quickly cut himself off as an air of utter despair settled on the _elleth_ and dimmed the renewed glint of clarity in her eyes.

“I remember now,” she said softly, as Aldaner tipped a cup to her lips. She drew in the sleeping draught with a satisfied sigh.

“I will let you rest soon, but first I need to ask you some questions, alright _penneth_?” Elrond said in a low, droning voice that could put the most flighty of patients at ease.

She nodded tiredly and let her eyes trail to where Dorthion’s warm, calloused hand had enveloped her own.

oOo

Elrond quietly slid the thick canvas screen back into place to give the recovering _elleth_ some privacy. She had minor burns all over her side, mainly her hands, but it presented no threat to her life and would be no more than be a painful nuisance.

He walked absently through the winding corridors, mulling over the recent events and trying to piece together a suitable plan that would free the people of the stronghold from this untimely destruction. He stopped in front of a door, throwing the question as to why he was standing in front of Thranduil’s chambers to the wind. He shrugged and pushed the ajar door open.

Everything was in disarray as they had left it; plush seats pushed haphazardly to one side, the small secret compartment in the low table open and the documents— _gone_?

Elrond rushed over to the table and sure enough, every last paper was gone. He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration and whirled when a gentle hand landed on his shoulder.

He was met with the kind eyes of healer Aldaner. Her gaze strayed to the open compartment, but seemed to take Elrond’s distraught mood as more of a concern than her curiosity.

He gave her a tired half smile and sank down onto the sofa. “Healer Aldaner,” he acknowledged.

She placed the basket she was carrying on the floor and spoke carefully,

“I know you have much on your mind,” she began, “and I know you cannot rightfully take control here, but you are respected and looked up to. Perhaps you should decide what action is best to take next.” She turned hopeful eyes to him.

“I do not know, Aldaner. I cannot pull the strings behind the king’s back I—“

“But the king is not here and we need a plan of action. Only you have experience in these kinds of things, and I do not think the people are on the best of terms with any of the other officials, and with Galion and my Feren absent—“ he detected a slight quiver in her voice at her son’s name, Feren. “It is just best, Elrond. Please do this.”

Elrond rubbed a hand over his face. “I-I do not know. I can’t—“

“Can’t let the people burn,” she amended, her face grave and comforting. Elrond sighed in defeat. “We are behind you Elrond. Perhaps Thranduil will think better of you when he returns,” she said in jest, than quickly sobered. There was a large ‘if’ in that ‘when he returns’.

Elrond gave her a half-hearted smile. “I was never one for military tactics, but I suppose I should discuss this with the officials in this area—“

Aldaner put a hand on his arm to stop him, and shook her head with a grim smile.

“Pardon?” he stammered.

She wordlessly reached down and removed a folder from the basket she had entered carrying. She presented it to him with nimble fingers.

“There are their resignations. I was sent to bring it to you.”

Elrond was taken aback. This was unexpected.

“More traitors?” His voice was hoarse and brow twisted in intent concern.

She looked out the window thoughtfully. “Possibly. But I do not think so. I suspect they have been threatened.” She gave a him certain, knowing look.

Realization dawned on the elven lord. “The other missing elves. Captured?”

“I suspect so. I knew most of the officials, being assistant to Master Healer Filendis, and they were not traitors.

“Ausocitin knows his game. He is trying to leave us leaderless, and that would break us to the point of no return. He would never guess that you would rise to the challenge, for many elves in Greenwood have very specific and very strong opinions about Noldor. All the more reason for you to do this.”

Elrond sighed again. “Thank you, Aldaner.” She smiled kindly. “I will see to my sons. Their memory of these things are fresher than mine.”

He hesitated to turn and leave at the reproachful expression of the elderly healer. She bit her lip as if wanting to say something, and hooked her fingers in his sleeve.

“My lady?”

“I—“ she started, “I was wondering— about my son, and Galion and the others. Will you be sending out search parties? Surely you cannot assume that they are gone—!”

Elrond pondered the offer. It pained him to shutter the hope shining in the elleth’s eyes once again, but he knew what he had to do.

“Of course not! We cannot—_will not_ assume anything of the sort.” She perked up slightly and he pursed his lips sadly.

“However, we cannot afford to send anyone out of the stronghold. Dorthion reported that they barely escaped another rabble of Edain, and all our candidates are busy searching for the other lost elves who might still be kept in the stronghold, for the disappearance of those documents—“ he gestured to the open compartment, “proves they have a successful infiltrator.”

She nodded solemnly. “I understand.” Then, she wordlessly picked up her basket and trudged out of the door, obviously struggling not to let the disappointment of the declined offer weigh her down. Elrond watched her back retreat out of the door sadly, then exited to see to his twin sons.

_I will find you, Estel. Soon. Soon. _

oOo

“_Now_?” Estel nearly squeaked, looking at the dwarf as if he had just proposed to go have tea with Sauron.

“_Yes_ now! Everyone’s waiting in the Hall!” the dwarf countered in excitement.

“He’s not even awake,” observed Hildor dryly.

“Fiddlesticks! He can sleep later, now we must make haste!” the dwarf was nearly fluttering around the room. No one had ever seen him this pumped up before. Apparently he was less fond of the century-old conflict than most of the other chairmen.

“I’m afraid he’s in no condition to go anywhere,” the healer said calmly, a sharp contrast to the dwarf’s restless fidgeting. He gestured to the sleeping elf. It was disturbing enough that he had not woken—not even twitched— from all their racket.

“He doesn’t have a choice,” the dwarf said angrily.

Estel had been about to rebuke the dwarf when noise from outside attracted his attention. As if sensing his thoughts, Hildor peeked under the entrance flap that served as the front door and whistled at whatever he saw outside. Estel sidled up to him.

Humans of all ages stood right outside the tent. Some dwarves had been thrown into the mix and nearly all of them had either impatient or angry dispositions. Estel gulped. He would not want to cross this rabble anytime soon.

A woman must’ve noticed him peeking out for she called out: “You there! Tell that elf to get himself out here!”

Several persons chorused their agreement.

“It’s elf money so let the elf decide!” roared a dwarf. The healer had now joined Estel at the entrance and was futilely trying to communicate to the group that Legolas was in no condition to move whatsoever. His voice was drowned out in a sea of murmurings and threats.

“We’re not waiting a second longer than necessary! A hundred years is about as long as this argument will stand!” Yells answered the booming voice.

“Either you get him out here or we will!” The shouts intensified and did not die down.

“Estel?” Legolas bleary voice caused the young human to whirl around.

“Legolas!” Estel rushed back to his friend’s side. His nerves were on end.

“Wha—“ His brow wrinkled in concern, understanding the shouted threats from outside for the first time. “Estel, what is all this?” he asked in a hoarse voice. He no longer heeded the warning in his mind not to trust these folk with knowledge of their companionship.

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn explained the situation, noticing how the elf’s eyes kept flicking to the healer and Hildor. The dwarf grumped into his beard, muttering pleas under his breath for them to hurry.

Legolas grimaced as all the racket grated on his sensitive hearing and worsened the throbbing migraine swimming between his temples. His patience had just about worn itself out. He was tired, thirsty, and any little twitch sent fire spiking through his side.

Besides that, he had no idea where the gold, that was supposedly Greenwood’s, came from or how it had ended up in this settlement. He had little stomach for politics and disliked it nearly more than anything. To put it simply, Legolas just wanted to sleep.

The dwarf glared at him from the other side of the tent. He looked just about ready to stomp over and carry Legolas out himself.

Sighing, the prince began to sit up. He eyed the healer warily before allowing the human to help him up. Swinging his legs wordlessly over the edge of the cot, he reasoned about what he would do.

There was really no escape to being torn apart by one mob or another. If he gave the money to the dwarves, the humans would most definitely leave him in a worse state in which he had been found, as would happen if he chose to give the money to the humans. If he didn’t come out at all, the mob would probably storm the tent and tear it to pieces.

In short, Legolas had three choices; pain, pain, and pain, and he didn’t fancy either of those.

“You can’t go out there!” Estel said, his tone panicky and eyes wide as he draped the elf’s arm over his shoulders and wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him upright. Legolas leaned heavily on him and was already breathing far too hard than should be necessary.

“I must,” he said in a strained voice. He barely managed to suppress the moans in his throat.

And Estel knew it.

Hildor went first, pushing through the crowd. Next came the healer, batting away anyone who reached too close, with Estel and Legolas behind him and the dwarf in tow.

The chorus of shouts melted together into one indiscernible roar. It took several minutes for the small group to finally push through the throng and limp into the Hall.

The ringing of the crowd was diluted as the heavy oak doors swung shut. Legolas immediately located the back door at the front of the room where there was a space devoid of chairs for the presenter to stand.

Murmured whispers rippled through the audience in the hall as the group made it to the front of the room. The dwarf took his seat as part of the panel.

Legolas was breathing very hard. Any move he made dipped his nerves in molten lava and his head ached fiercely as if being used as an anvil. His knee felt out of place and only added to his pain. He had to pause in order for the world to right itself and the black spots to fade from his vision.

He began speaking, hoping he would still be in one piece at the end of the day. He had made his decision.

“In this town’s possession is a unit of wealth belonging to the elven realm of Greenwood the Great.” He gritted his teeth at the mocking mutterings that ran through the gathered. “I understand that both dwarves and _Edain_ claim that the gold rightfully belongs to their own race but—“

“We don’t _claim_ to own anything, elf! We were promised payment of our choice, and we choose that gold!” That was obviously a dwarf who had interrupted.

“That wealth was entitled to this town before any dwarves came snooping around!” It was a woman this time.

The prince lifted a shaking hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Are we not a part of this town?”

“This town wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for us dwarves!”

Shouts began to rise up again.

“If I could have _silence_, I would continue.” Legolas did not raise the volume of his voice but the chilling tone was very effective and everyone quieted. “After much contemplation and evaluation of the well-being of all races present—“

“Them dwarves don’t need no gold! Everyone already knows they have a mountain full of it!”

Growls rose from the section where the dwarves were seated at the mention of Erebor, currently under the reign of Smaug.

“That’s quite enough!” Hildor shouted. He too was eager to discover the elf’s conclusion. The yells died out.

Legolas’ eyes could be compared to chips of ice. He was nearing the end of his limits.

Ignoring a worried glance of Estel’s brilliant silver, he continued,

“As I was saying, to preserve the well-being of all races present, I reclaim the wealth as originally belonging to the realm of Greenwood, and order it to be ready for guarded shipment under the official title of Legolas Thranduilion, Prince and royal heir to the throne of Greenwood the Great.” He scribbled his name down on the document on the pulpit in front of him, making the transaction official.

The crowd was angry to say the least. Threats rose up, and no one noticed the five other beings that entered through the back door.

The familiar black-bearded dwarf shot out of his chair and pointed accusingly. “He lies!”

“Only an elf would think of doing something like that!”

“He ain’t no prince!”

“Get him down from there!”

Legolas gritted his teeth. The noise was too much; he couldn’t keep this up much longer...

“Estel, move to the back door. Behind us.”

The crowd was rising like the Sea at high tide, threatening to choke off the residents on shore, which in this case was the young human and elf who were doing their best to make an escape.

The five unknown figures sprang into sight, their cowls shadowing their faces and clothing except for gleaming swords held out at full length towards the angry crowd. Estel was stunned to say the least; Legolas was targeting all his energy into staying conscious, so he was probably not even aware of the five new beings who had joined them.

“I suggest you all stand down,” said one of the shadowed figures. His voice was as stern, cold, and sincere as a deadly icicle, poised to impale any who cross it in a millisecond’s notice. Estel felt a definite shiver run along his spine. He had heard this voice before, and couldn’t remember if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He suddenly wanted to backpedal towards the door with utmost haste.

He looked worriedly to the fair-haired elf now leaning on his shoulder with rapidly blinking glazed eyes. His breathing did not slow and he clutched his side with a trembling hand. Estel knew they could not get away now.

The human healer fidgeted nervously, obviously aching to check up on the ailing elf, but being held at bay by the sword of one of the slim figures.

The crowd responded accordingly to the stranger’s chilling voice. The tense silence the voice created was soon broken by another angry shout.

“Move it if you know what’s good for yah! That there elf is a liar and a cheat and we will have our vengeance a’fore he dies his’self!” In-coincidentally, the protestant was dwarven.

If Legolas had been able to clearly hear, he would have agreed that he felt like he was dying. The internal battle in his body of his system trying to eliminate the rest of the venom was not a quiet nor painless one. Voices buzzed in his ears as he tried to blink away the dark haze settled over his vision.

“Curse them elves to the grave and back!” yelled another. The crowd began to surge forward. The strangers stayed poised as iron statues.

The healer let out a small yelp as a sword pinched the soft flesh at his throat. The stranger had the healer pressed against his chest, the gleaming sword at his neck. The cold voice bit out again.

“One more step from either of you and you won’t have a healer left to sew what’s left of you back together.” The stranger had no idea if this really was the healer, but had really hoped he had guessed correctly from observing the human’s mannerisms.

His voice had a greater affect this time. The throng quieted to grumbles and anxious glances.

Estel eyes the door longingly, then glanced back to the cowled figure closest to him, also holding an elegant sword, slightly curved... unlike human swords. A strange feeling he could not quite discern flared in his chest.

The trapped healer fidgeted anxiously under the bite of the blade and dared not move. His heart nearly jumped out of his rib cage entirely when the back door slammed behind him.

He felt the stranger’s head whirl around to face this new threat, but nearly melted into relief when he recognized the voice of the dwarrowdam, more widely known as Mum, or as the keeper of the local inn. Everyone knew it had the best kitchen in the whole part of the country.

“Just _WHAT_ do we have here?!” She turned a heavy glare to her husband, the black-bearded dwarf, who was standing defiantly at the front of the crowd.

Pardons and explanations were quickly emitted by several persons.

Everyone seemed so suddenly flustered and shy at her presence, Aragorn wondered if she was magic or something of that gist.

“_Tut, tut!_ I don’t want to hear it! I expect you all to disassemble immediately!” She turned back to her husband. “We will have a discussion about this later,” she added menacingly.

Estel was incredibly astonished as the entire crowd filed out of the door.

The healer was released and the strangers had sheathed their weapons. Whoever they were, they had elvish weapons.

“Now if you folks would be so kind to introduce yourselves,” the dwarrowdam directed the question to the figure who had held his sword to the human healer’s throat.

He stepped forward and threw off his cowl. Estel nearly fell over in astonishment, but instead tightened his hold on Legolas who was now very still despite the rise and fall of his chest. The poor creature had fallen unconscious despite his best efforts.

The stranger’s face was elven, with medium-length russet brown hair and a defined jaw with a noble tilt to his head, thin lips twisted into a wry smile. Estel recognized him immediately.

“Feren Anuhalion, Captain of the Greenwood Royal Guard, at your service m’lady,” Feren said, giving a sweeping bow.

He looked back to his companions. Legolas was already already in Filendis’ arms, and Estel was futilely trying to wave away Helmeren’s attempts to fuss over him.

General Haldaner was eyeing Hildor and the healer suspiciously, his hand fingering the hilt of his sword, and evidently on edge.

“These are my companions,” Feren gestured to the other elves, “and they are with me.”

oOoOoOo


	30. The Journal of Greenwood

Chapter 30~ The Journal of Greenwood

Thranduil was relieved when he spotted the twin posts marking the entrance to one of the many Silvan settlements scattered throughout the Greenwood—or Mirkwood, as outsiders had begun to relevantly call it, he amended bitterly.

Their food stores had just run out that morning, and it was questionable to whether or not there were still a few drops of water left in the leather skin. They were all weary of travel, and the uncertainty of the situation kept them all on edge with varying degrees of alertness.

The wounds Helgilion and Minaitir had acquired earlier had healed nicely, which was all well, for they no longer had any more healing supplies either. Thranduil was looking forward to having a roof over his head and the leaders of the settlement to take counsel with over the besieged stronghold.

One thing that did concern the Sinda was Minaitir’s behavior. He seemed to be more distant and only spoke when spoken to, and the responses were usually heated spats which ended with a plea to be left alone. It might seem as if it was simply in the boy’s nature to act so, but Thranduil wasn’t so sure.

They were approaching the posts now, and were only a few meters away when Thranduil froze.

This was wrong.

There was no guard perched in the trees above, no merry greeting or snarl of warning nor even the faint creak of a bow. They were sure to have been spotted by now. He squinted to peer into the small _telain_, but saw no evidence of any current occupation.

He swiftly rushed to a towering beech and lay his hand upon it, recoiling slowly as the rush of unease emanating from the tree fed his apprehension like a tributary does a river.

But that’s when the smell struck him. It was faint and almost stale, as if it had polluted the air for a time and had not suddenly burst forth. The familiarity of it made his heart skip a beat and ice rush through his veins.

He signaled for the children to follow as he made a dash for the _telain_.

The smell was much stronger here, where a thick grey haze had settled on the air and clogged his airways.

Thranduil studied the bottom of the talan on the left, running his hand along the rough bark and calling to the tree. A frantic whisper met his _súlë_ and died out as the tree recoiled within itself, refusing to speak to him.

(It was difficult to hear the Song in general, but his strength was slowly seeping back into him as his connection grew subtly stronger.)

_Oh Valar, do not let it be!_

“What’s that funny smell?” Estella piped curiously as Thranduil began to climb up to the flet.

Though her voice was quiet, it seemed far too loud for the ominous silence that cloaked them now. Helgilion shifted nervously, scanning surroundings as he had been trained to do, and Minaitir remained stony-faced as always.

“It smells like,” Fararth paused to cough into his sleeve, “something burning.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

A few more beats of silence passed before all the elflings turned towards each other with horror in their eyes. Fire and forests did not mix well...

Their heads snapped up to a sharp intake of breath from the talan above.

Thranduil stared in horror at the lifeless body sprawled awkwardly at his feet, a large, bloody mess in the place of what used to be the elleth’s throat. A bloody arrow at the opposite side of the talan attesting to the fact that it had passed all the way through the victim’s neck, and was most likely shot at point-blank range.

A haunted smile was frozen on her lips, only her sightless eyes betraying that she had been surprised the last few seconds of her life.

She had not even bothered to unsheathe her weapons. Her attacker was someone she knew. If anything, Silvans were more prone to pulling a weapon on a suspicious movement than not, so this had to be someone she trusted fully.

He could picture how it transpired in his mind.

The _elleth_, seeing a familiar face had come to the edge of the flet, happily welcoming the newcomer, only with her salutations to be met with the bitter reply of an arrow through her throat where the impact threw her backwards without even a cry of alarm.

He walked over and picked up the arrow before angrily snapping it between his fingers. Rage heated his veins and he gently wrapped the _elleth’s_ mangled neck.

_Blasted humans! Did they not have an ounce of conscience in them!?_

Yet he could not be sure. This guard would no doubt have regarded approaching humans with suspicion, if not malice, and the mortals’ presence would most definitely not left her dead body with a plastered smile.

Like he had determined previously, it had to be someone she trusted, someone she knew without a doubt would bring her no harm, someone who stood out enough for her not to notice the humans in the person’s company...

Thranduil’s thoughts immediately brought up Ausocitin, but quickly dismissed it, for the traitor was not very widely traveled and this was not the biggest of settlements to recognize a simple adviser.

Frustrated, the Sinda shook his head and bore up the body, planning to stow it away and inform the civilians of its location as soon as he came in contact with the population.

He paused momentarily to ponder the thought. Surely this was not the only guard posted here, at the main entrance! And even if she was, would she not have been discovered by now? He decided he would rather not think of the possibilities, and quickly descended the post.

His feet had barely come in contact with solid ground before a shrill scream tore him from his reverie. Estella. He lowered the body and bolted to the site.

All the elflings were bunched around a patch of brush near the main track leading into the settlement. Fararth had his face buried in Helgilion’s chest, who’s own face was pinched with horrified bewilderment. Estella had her eyes glued to a large indent in the middle of the brush and even Minaitir’s dull eyes held an unidentifiable emotion.

Sword in hand, Thranduil wedged himself in front of the young _elleth_.

Inside the brush lay another elven body, this time male. He lay on his stomach with his hair covering his face. A steel arrow tip protruded from his back, some black sticky tar clinging to its crude surface, making a disturbing blend with the dried blood.

Both his arms were stretched out above him, his stiff fingers still snagged in a luxurious wine-red outer cloak as worn by nobles of high rank. Thranduil bent down to examine it closer.

_Why, it was his! _

A theory began to piece together in his mind.

Another object lay clutched in the soldier’s other hand. He quickly picked it up, Helgilion wordlessly catching a loose sheaf of paper that fell from the leather-bound journal as he raised it up to examine it.

The journal was old, Thranduil could tell that much. The pine-green leather cover was well-worn and wrinkled at the corners like it had been shoved in and out of a pack many times, and the thin strips binding the pages were soft from much handling. The pages inside were yellowed and brittle and had begun to chip off at the edges. Faded gold leaf was stamped onto the front in the traditional crest of Greenwood the Great, with a wreath of foliage and other flora surrounding a great stag in the center.

He gingerly lifted the cover and nearly dropped the journal at the name neatly scrawled in the top right corner of the first page.

‘_King Oropher of Greenwood: a personal account.’_

His fingers involuntary began to shake and he slammed the book closed, refusing to let the sudden moisture in his eyes show.

Helgilion held out the lone piece of paper that had fallen from the journal to Thranduil but he quickly took it and shoved it inside the book and stuffed it in his pack.

He had not the time nor energy to ponder this new discovery.

oOo

Feren strutted purposefully over to the bedside, ruffling through the official documents pledging the gold back to Greenwood. He was immensely proud of his little prince, and it showed on his face.

“You mean to tell me this is _actually_ Greenwood’s wealth?” Legolas asked, bewildered. He had just woken from two-day period of unconsciousness two hours ago, and Feren was catching him up on the current events.

The Captain nodded excitedly. “Yes, indeed _ernil nin_. You might have just saved us after all.”

Legolas furrowed his brow. “Explain, please.”

Galion wrung out a piece of cloth and approached with water dripping from his hands. “It means we can use the gold to get those blasted humans off our land.”

Feren whirled over to him. “Or, we could offer it as extra wages to any available elven soldiers and drive them out,” he said with a pointed look at Galion.

Galion rolled his eyes and tried to push the young fair-haired ellon back into a reclined position, who refused readily. Galion eventually sufficed himself with running the wet cloth over his healing knee.

The period Legolas had been unconscious felt almost refreshing; it had been crucial to the speed in which he healed. He still winced when he moved but was definitely on the steady road to recovery.

“Not everything has to be done with brute force,” said Galion with another irritated flick of his lashes. “We will use the gold to persuade the humans out of Greenwood and that’s that. The only reason they’re there in the first place is because we ‘did not come to their aid’ when Smaug inflicted his destruction.”

“But there won’t be enough,” Legolas intervened, trying to brush off Galion’s incessant fussing.

Both _ellyn’s_ faces fell. “I suppose your right,” sighed Feren, seeing the shortcomings of their respective plans.

The tent brightened as Master Healer Filendis, and his wife, Helmeren, entered with hands full of various plants and roots. Helmeren smiled kindly and immediately began scanning the young prince.

“There isn’t much out there but these will do,” she said brightly as she set the herbs down. They had remained in the tent used typically as the town’s traditional patrol party’s healing area, not wanting to further aggravate Legolas’ wounds by moving him.

The entrance flap opened once again.

General Haldaner’s downcast disposition and Estel’s gentle hand on his shoulder told the worried elves in the room everything they needed to know.

“Not a trace. Nothing,” Haldaner said sadly. Helmeren accepted Filendis’ reassuring embrace.

He whispered, “We will find them. We will find our little ones.”

Feren and Galion exchanged a glance. There were still many things they had to do.

oOo

Elrohir balanced precariously on the edge of a crate of quivers, reaching for a curious-looking box on the shelf above the one where the arrowheads were stored.

The crate tipped precariously and Elrohir threw his weight the opposite direction to keep from toppling to the floor.

Elladan peeked his head inside the dusky chamber, a wide smirk on his face.

“Do you require my aid, _tithen muindor nin?_” he said mischievously.

Elrohir rolled his eyes and let out an irritated sigh while he lifted his heels and grasped the edge of the shelf. Elladan ambled over to Elrohir and stood by, his arms crossed and smirk steady.

“I’m—afraid—whatever that was— in _ada’s_ wine—did not leave me— at the prime state—of balance—oof!”

The shelf detached from the wall and the small box slid off as Elrohir went down with a crash, the crate tipped over and the contents spilling out. The small box landed squarely on his head and broke open with a loud _poof!_ as he was showered with a fine white, cloudy powder that looked suspiciously like flour.

The room was lost in the milky white fog that had burst from the small box so that the twins could scarcely see each other through it.

Elladan had frozen in surprise, then began roaring with laughter.

Elrohir groaned and laid down on the floor right where he was in his mess of quivers, rubbing his head and sputtering angrily.

“That,” he spat, his face distorting into an expression of disgust and swallowing several times to rid his mouth of the taste, “is not flour.”

Elladan laughed harder and offered a hand to help him up.

“I suppose that’s what you get! You were supposed to be trying to help ada make tactical plans, not sneaking off to the weapons’ Hall,” Elladan said after eventually dousing his merriment.

Elrohir ignored him as he fixed his eyes on a small white orb that had survived the crash off of the shelf. He picked it up and rolled it between his fingers, his gears turning rapidly.

“What do you suppose these are for?” he said absently.

Elladan took the orb from him and inspected it.

“Tip your arrow with this and they won’t even see the next one coming,” he said easily. “Works for orcs, I suppose, because it’s much easier for us to see through this than it is for the enemy.”

Elrohir scanned the room and found several more identical boxes on the other shelves. _Perfect!_ He thought excitedly, eyes far away as his mind continued to work rapidly.

“‘Ro? What’s wrong?” Elladan said, waving his hand in front of his brother’s face.

Elrohir looked at him seriously, a determined glint in his eye that almost always identified as a plan of trouble or conspiracy.

“I think I have a plan. We can get out of this.”

Elladan shared Elrohir’s smile. He liked the sound of that.

oOo

Elrond swept down the winding corridors, stopping a servant in her path.

“Miss? Do you happen to know of my son, Elrohir’s whereabouts?”

She looked at him with wide eyes, surprised to being addressed by the mighty elven lord.

“Uhh yes, my lord, I had seen him on the way to the healing rooms.” Elrond nodded his thanks and rushed over to that wing of that palace.

Elladan and Elrohir were nowhere to be found. He questioned a healer.

“Oh, yes! I do believe I saw Lord Elrohir on his way to his quarters,” she answered before bustling away.

Elrond groaned. That was on the entirely opposite side of the palace.

He began walking in that direction and stopped another servant when he found both Elladan and Elrohir’s rooms to be empty. He made another inquiry from a patrolling guard.

“Last time I had seen Lord Elrohir, he was on his way to the healing ward,” the soldier answered.

Elrond resisted the urge to pound his fist into the wall. He was suddenly very happy that _Imladrís_ was much smaller.

He cursed their identical faces then quickly apologized to no one in particular; he fancied those identical faces and certainly wanted to see them again, even if it meant he was condemning himself to a life where there was a prank of some sort right around the corner. They make life interesting I suppose, he thought fondly.

Several soldiers came running down the corridor.

“Daesíl!” one shouted, obviously this soldier’s name. They skid to a stop and inclined their heads respectfully to Elrond.

The one that had previously spoken held out a folded piece of parchment to the Noldo as he gasped for breath.

“We have searched everywhere, sir. The Lords Elladan and Elrohir— they are gone! We found a mess one of the chambers in the weapons hall. One of the chests for the White Orbs was broken open and several other chests are missing. We found this note.”

Elrond squeezed his eyes shut and unfolded the letter slowly, fearing what he may find. He only hoped they hadn’t been taken by the infiltrator or— he stopped his line of thought.

The letter read:

‘We have a plan. Do not look for us. Please forgive the mess. ‘

Signed, ‘Elladan and Elrohir’

Elrond crushed the paper in his hand. All three sons, _gone_?

oOo

Elrohir crouched behind a copse of bushes, peering through the foliage and silently nocking and arrow. He glanced up to Elladan who was standing in the branches above and received an affirming nod.

Elrohir tentatively raised his bow and sighted in on the adan in command who was currently giving orders, then released. The _adan_ was dead before he hit the ground. All the others were so stunned they dared not move.

Elrohir burst from the bushes, firing as many arrows as he could, trying hard to merely injure and not kill. He had been forced to take out the leader, for he needed a disorganized and chaotic environment for their plan to work.

Men crumpled to the ground like flies as they advanced on him. They took up no formation and attacked individually, showing the importance of a leader. The plan was going well so far...

Shouts ricocheted amongst the trees as several persons tried to shout instructions to the rest of the group, but the orders were lost in the disorganization.

He spared a second to glance up, seeking Elladan. A lithe silhouette flashed over the silver moon and disappeared into the shadows of the foliage.

A voice broke out over the din.

“FORMATION FIVE! FORMATION FIVE! Move! _Move_!”

The effect was like clockwork.

Shield bearers sprinted to the front of the group, using the wide coverage to protect themselves, as the amount of targets lessened. Elrohir was now much harder pressed to get in accurate shots.

His heart began to race. _Eru grant us the fulfillment of this scheme, for once; lives will be spared._

He didn’t add that things were beginning to look rather down for him and he would feel much better if something reversed to his favor... _like right now, _he thought frantically as he reached back to his quiver and fingered his remaining arrows. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was stopped and overtaken.

_Edain_ pressed in around him, many unsheathing their blades; never a good sign. Sure enough, as Elrohir reached back for another arrow, his hand met only his unbound hair.

He closed his eyes. This was it. There was no turning back now. He unsheathed his blade and challenged the on-comers with a steely glint in his eye.

He had barely begun to engage one adan before several sword points poked his chest and abdomen. He lowered his sword without the consequences of what would happen if he didn’t being shouted in his ear; he knew full well the bite of a blade, and he did not fancy it one bit.

“It’s another one of them _bloody_ elves!” one shouted.

They pressed in and Elrohir backed away, stopping when his back met with the rough bark of a thick tree. His heart began to speed up as a Man pushed through the crowd with an air of authority.

_I couldn’t have eliminated the wrong one...? _Elrohir thought. He had observed the camp several minutes before striking to assure himself he was taking the correct life.

The _adan_ that stood before him definitely did not strike Elrohir as a leader.

His hair was greasy and thin, and his shoulders hunched. His clothes were stained; several blotches that looked like blood stains and Manwë knows what else.

Elrohir lifted his chin defiantly and looked the adan in the eye, a challenge rising from the tension in the air.

The _adan_ simply looked him up and down while wiping his hands on an old cloth that he shoved back in the pocket of his trousers. He nodded and ‘_hmphed_’ to himself, then turned away.

“Make sure he’s alone. And make sure he doesn’t get away like the other one. Do not disturb me any longer,” he said in a loud, gravelly voice that didn’t seem to fit his lowly posture and appearance.

He stopped before disappearing into a large tent and threw another command over his hunched shoulder,

“Get the body away from here.” And then he was gone.

This was not good. Not good at all. The very first step of their plan, and it had gone wrong. The people had not reacted violently to their leader’s death at all, and now this sorry excuse for a Man had taken over. Elrohir wondered who’s this man was to demand such from the other rebels.

He cast a worried glance to the branches above, barely making out Elladan’s slim form pressed against the trunk.

The last thing he experienced was a fist slammed into his stomach before everything went dark.

oOoOoOo


	31. Traitors and Obscurities

Chapter 31~ Traitors and Obscurities

Thranduil stepped into a clearing with growing horror. The hazy stench was strong here as it wafted along with the increasing wind between the smoking ruins of several _telain_ clusters.

The trees were burnt or smothered with black ash or glowing with lighted embers. The area was littered with various shattered and smoldering household items and dis-attached lumber.

Several bodies were strewn about as well, some still, others moaning with healers or loved ones bent over them. A chaotic energy veiled the destruction and weaved nearly plausible tension into the very air. Elves scurried about with laden baskets, disheveled hair, and grimy faces, most streaked with tear tracks.

The elflings gasped as they took in the tragedy that had evidentially befallen the area and clung to Thranduil’s legs. The Sinda choked down a wave of apprehension, for this felt very similar to the children clinging to him in his most recent dream. He held the elflings closer.

A willowy yet sturdy _elleth_ was the first to take notice of him. Like the rest, her face was discolored with dirt and her garments were soiled and threadbare as if she had spent a while kneeling. Dried leaves stuck out of her lopsided and spilling bun.

She ambled over to him with shoulders back and eyes blazing.

Perhaps she didn’t recognize him..? The bud of apprehension bloomed in his chest. Thranduil met her countenance with a confidence of his own. He was never known to be cowed easily.

The _elleth_ came to a stop right in front of him, looking him up and down as if sizing up and enemy. By the look in her eye, she definitely recognized him and sure wasn’t happy about it. She spied the children cowering behind his cloak and her eyes hardened further.

Thranduil opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a unique smack as his head was thrown to the side. He heard the sound a blade being unsheathed behind him, most likely Minaitir.

Eyes wide, he looked back up to the— it became very apparent now— towering height of the _elleth_. He had only been slapped a handful of times in his life (he probably deserved all the other times, he added as an afterthought), but he had certainly never would have thought—

“_You dare show your face here again?!” _The fury in the _elleth’s_ eyes was stoked to be comparable to a forge’s furnace.

A hand still on the smarting side of his face, Thranduil warily delivered his weak retort. “You accuse me of a deed that does not add up! I have not set foot here in several millennia!” he shouted vainly.

A strange twinge had spewed a fog in his mind.

The shouting had snagged the attention of some other elves, who slowly began to congregate around them. The elflings behind him regarded the other elves with a measure of despairing relief and newfound caution.

Thranduil could not fathom what he had done to garner such a reaction from this _elleth_ who he had not even met before.

The blaze in her eyes remained constant. She let out a forced laugh that was somehow crafted to sound dangerous.

“Oh! So now you’re not only a traitorous scoundrel and a murderer, but a liar as well! Won’t Námo be _delighted_ to see you!” In a blink, she had the tip of a knife pressed under his chin.

Thranduil was so stunned he could hardly think. The Ring at the bottom of his pack seemed to grow heavier in an enticing manner. His head began to spin and he groaned inwardly.

One of the individuals from the throng making a loose loop around them seemed to take pity on him and stepped out.

“Alagbara! Stand down! Let us proceed not in haste.” The _ellon_ placed a hand on the outstretched arm of the _elleth_, Alagbara apparently; Thranduil thought it was a rather fitting name.

With some contemplation and a last angry flash of her teeth, Alagbara lowered the knife and instead dug her fingers into his arm, which, he thought absently, was rather unnecessary for he felt rather strange—

Thranduil blinked heavily as a seemingly physical weight plopped down on his shoulders. The next thing he knew was a loud, mournful wailing filled his ears and the echo of a Shadow probed into him, like he had been underwater the whole time and every muted sound became known now.

He gasped and stumbled back as his connection with the trees slammed back into him full force. Shouts swam in his ears and colors began to melt together...

As king, Thranduil knew he had poured himself into the very land, letting him actually feel the Shadow creeping up from the South. He had withdrawn most of his energy from the land and back into himself when he had, in turn, depleted his stores to heal Legolas, somewhat quieting his connection with nature.

But he heard it now. Oh, how he heard it.

The wails of the trees became lilting chants of thick melancholy, rising in tune with the heartbeat pounding in his ears and thrumming through his very head like the vibrating of a harp string. It felt like he was thrashing in a pool of molasses in a smothered world.

He vaguely recognized the dark chittering undertones of the trees plagued by darkness in the swimming mix.

A sharp sting erupted in his knees and he absently came to the conclusion that he had collapsed. Hands pulled at his arms as he sunk in his pool of molasses until darkness swallowed his mind.

oOo

Elrond purposefully and swiftly descended the crude stone stairs to the dungeons. He crept through the creaking gate, and was suddenly reminded of the sight of a nearly unconscious Legolas pressed to the floor with a blade at his throat; the sight that had met his eyes last time he had made this trip. He almost wished the same sight confronted him now, for there was more worry in the unknown than the endangered, which in this case was the locations of Legolas and Estel.

The key made an authoritative click as it popped open the lock. Denisale didn’t even look up as Elrond swung the door open.

The ex-captain made a small sniff as his shoulders convulsed. Elrond was surprised to note that he was crying.

The collar of his tunic was loose and a red-stained bandage wound around his shoulder visible through the opening. The Noldo settled down next to him on the small cot, leaving the grated door ajar and not fearing an escape attempt.

Elrond merely waited. Denisale took a deep, shuddering breath and began speaking on his own; he knew why the elf lord had come, and was not going to hinder him in his search.

“The Ring, _hir nin. _It is thoroughly evil,” Denisale said with hitched breath.

Elrond pressed a hand to his mouth. _Valar... Tauriel said Thranduil has it; that he put it on..._

“How do you know this?” the Noldo prodded.

Denisale furrowed his brow.

“Because I—I handled it. The night right after the counsel meeting where we had a quarrel on... the manner in which we would drive the _Edain_ out, Ausocitin came to me and pressed a note into my hand. The note told of a location outside the stronghold to meet him at that night. So I did.” He took another shuddering breath. “I came to the place and found him holding a knife to Gilgan’s throat.”

Elrond made a confused expression and Denisale gestured to the other cell where Gilgan, the boy who had presumably impersonated Aragorn, and his mother, Evlani, were seated.

“You see, I had found the boy a week prior out lost in the woods outside the _talan_ I had been stationed in as an outpost. I had taken him in and grown rather fond of him. Apparently Ausocitin knew of this from Gindorelle’s thieving little son who had been, shall we say, observing me.” His eyes turned dark.

“Well, with the boy as leverage, I became his pawn. I used the Ring under his prodding to clear areas for more of the camps by bending the trees and wagon in the supplies. I don’t remember even half of it. Evlani took it from me without Ausocitin knowing. Without it on, the effects wore off sooner than Ausocitin may have wanted and I realized what I had done to—to—“ he broke off. “I was a _fool_,” he lamented, shaking his head.

Elrond retreated into deep thought. Something wasn’t adding up here... something wasn’t right...

He turned to Evlani. “You came in contact with the Ring,” he mused out loud.

Evlani and Gilgan exchanged a glance.

“Yessir, I did. Ausocitin put it into my possession after he found it in the Grey Mountains. What Denisale speaks it true,” she said with an affirming nod.

Elrond’s sharp eyes detected the slightest frown from Gilgan.

_The Grey Mountains? Why would he find it in the Grey Mountains?_

“So Ausocitin had this Ring hidden up there?”

She shook her head. “He had means to find it, a map of some sorts.”

_He found it? Why on Arda would it be there..?_

“It had not previously been in his possession before he found it, you say?”

Gilgan and Evlani exchanged another glance. “Not that I know of, sir.”

Elrond nodded and stood. He believed Denisale’s explanation, but it had not provided atonement for neither Evlani accepting the Ring and taking it South in the first place, or Gilgan willingly working with Gindorelle to spy on them in the palace.

“So you willingly helped the adviser, without any threats hanging over your head?”

Evlani paused and bit her lip. “You see, I didn’t I know what I was getting into, and I didn’t have means for providing for me and my boy so I just went along with it...”

Probably money promised from the treasury, Elrond thought bitterly. He knew almost all he needed now. He fired another question.

“Did you poison my son, Gilgan?” Gilgan was rather taken aback.

“Sir, I—uh—“

“Right, you also skulked about, pretending to be Estel and stole those documents from the king’s chambers, did you not?”

“Ausocitin threatened me—“

“With what? You could have easily stayed hidden in the passages and ran north.”

“My father, sir, he was in the camp and in danger of being killed!”

“I thought you said your father had died when you were an infant,” Denisale said with a puzzled frown.

“He _did_,” Evlani filled in quickly; too quickly. “What Gilgan _meant_ was _my_ father—“

“That’s _quite_ enough!” Elrond shouted over the rising voices. He had gotten all he needed to know from those two.

“Where are the missing elves?”

“Sir, I swear I do not know where they are being kept,” Gilgan said in a rush and cowered back when Elrond lifted an accusatory eyebrow.

“So they are being kept somewhere then,” he said slowly with a look of venom towards the boy, but did not prod anymore and turned back it Denisale who had an expression of troubled consternation on his face. He could see how things were not adding up as well.

“Is there anything else that you noticed, anything at all?”

Denisale bit his lip and began slowly. “Like I said my memory of the time I had the Ring in my possession is hazy but I think I remember a certain man conjuring up mixtures for Ausocitin. They possibly may have been poisons.”

Elrond nodded and removed the keys from the lock on the door to Denisale’s cell and pushed the door open.

“I believe you. You may leave this level, but I suggest you make yourself as useful as you can despite your shoulder,” Elrond said in reference to the arrow wound in Denisale’s shoulder he had taken for Tauriel.

A smile split his face as he walked out of the cell and approached the gate leading to the exit. He looked over his shoulder back at Evlani and Gilgan and gave Elrond a puzzled expression. Elrond took the hint and shook his head, conveying that he would not let the two humans out.

“Will you leave us here such, Denisale? After everything?” Evlani called, grasping the bars.

His expression became pained.

“I must. I have much to make up for.”

And with that he left, Elrond swinging the gate shut with a clang and disappearing up the staircase.

Evlani scowled deeply and freed the small knife hidden in the bodice of her dress.

He would be back...

oOo

Thranduil roused himself slowly, feeling very drained as low voices became known in a room near the one he was currently in.

He pried his eyes open and decided he did not fancy waking in places he didn’t recognize.

His gaze drifted around the shabby room, blinking at the late afternoon sun that shone through the cracks between the weathered boards and old sheet that had been used to cover the hole in the wall that apparently served as a window.

Beside the creaking old bed he was currently on and a small folding table near the head of the bed, the room was unfurnished; rather unsurprising for the state of the small shanty that did not look like it could outlast a single gust of wind.

The whisper of the trees had returned to the usual, soft incessant droning he was accustomed to.

He spotted his pack lying in the corner of the room and pondered what the Ring had done to him, for he could not tell if the lingering shadow in his mind was from the communication from the darkened hearts of the Shadowed trees, or a wisp of darkness that dwelled in his _súlë_. It mattered not.

He tried to turn his attention to the conversation outside the door propped up in the entrance form the room until a more pressing matter slammed into his drowsy mind and brought it to full alertness; _the children! Where are the children?_

Thranduil quickly decided that it was wiser to assess his situation first rather than struggling to have a a last living breath to regret his recklessness should he act rashly. He turned keen ears to the evidently quarreling voices that struggled to stay hushed.

“—the smoke rising in the distance, and the wreckage the Serpents wrecked there. Your own naneth was a victim to the beast’s flames, how can you say the very _coward_ that refused the King Oropher’s direct command to slay it, a sufficient ruler!?”

Ice spiked through Thranduil’s veins and he reflexively touched the side of his face that had been singed from the flames of the Serpent. The elves spoke of a matter that haunted him constantly, that he had trained himself to keep hidden.

Centuries ago, when his father still lived and ruled the Greenwood, the Serpent had plagued their northernmost border with its hunger for sweet elven flesh and sadistic amusement held at bay by watching things be reduced to black ash.

In opposition to what the prior voice of the _elleth_ had said, Thranduil had been angered by his father’s lack of concern about the beast. Oropher had seen the beast as too large a threat to bother with, and it had not destroyed so much as to be overly concerned of its presence.

Thranduil had stolen into the North with a small contingent of warriors that he hoped would escape his father’s scrutiny for a long enough period for them to have travelled too far for anyone to bother retrieving them.

He had been young and rebellious and was confident in his pending victory as he had borrowed his father’s Ring of Power. Their company had managed to attack the beast and take out one of its eyes. Furious and belching flame, the Serpent had demolished an entire elven settlement in its rage before returning to the Grey Mountains to finish off the rest of Thranduil’s company.

A pang of grief awakened in his heart at the memory. Brave as they were, none of his company had survived. Thranduil had barely managed to keep himself intact—even with help from the Greenwood’s Ring— and had thrust a broken spear shaft into the Serpent’s empty eye cavity before he had been engulfed in it’s last flurry of fire.

While Thranduil had been healing, his father had expressed his fears to the Counsel, that while what his son had managed to accomplish was great indeed, it did not change the fact that he had gone against the will of the king. Oropher feared what his own son’s disobedience might mean for his newly established reign and the already wavering loyalty of his people.

Thranduil had readily, in turn, pleaded that his accomplishment not be made known, for he wanted no one to know of his loss in soldiers, as well as the lives lost in the settlement and mostly his appearance. Oropher has decided it was necessary to keep to his son’s request, so he would not fade.

Ausocitin, of course, had been the one to spread the news the rumor that atoned for the loss of the settlement and the prince’s absence as he healed and learned to conceal his deformity.

Now it had become clear, that the adviser had been plotting to yank the throne from under Thranduil’s unsteady feet all along, and had twisted the situation to his favor, saying that Thranduil had refused his father’s wish to take the army out and slay the beast and the incident with the destroyed settlement had caused him to be too ashamed to show his face.

Effective as it was, the rumor had put Thranduil in the light of a coward, certainly making his father’s death and his own rose to kingship a worse situation than it ought to have been. The fate of the missing soldiers, however, remained obscure and uncertain.

An ellon’s voice on the other side of the door expressed this doubt. “But the missing soldiers? What of them? We know there is something not right here so—“

The fiery voice of the _elleth_ overrode his. Thranduil, with a pang of apprehension, recognized it to be the _elleth_ who had struck him at his arrival. He was still rather surprised at that! She had a spirit indeed. Not that it worked in his favor...

“But what of this!? First that settlement, now our home! You know it was Thranduil; you saw him with your very eyes! Who knows if the incident up north was not a beast at all, but that black villain and his exploding vials all along! And now he has come to unleash his anger and we happened to be the unfortunate recipients—!”

Thranduil’s heart stung at the very thought and he shot to and upright position.

“The king is not evil; do not speak of this treachery,” the _ellon_ intervened quietly. Thranduil could see his eyes skittering nervously through the crooked gap in the broken door.

But then their eyes met. The _ellon_ froze and stiffly stared at him. The _elleth_ whirled into view and pushed the door aside.

oOoOoOo


	32. Reveal

Chapter 32~ Reveal

The _ellon_ was first to find his voice.

“I knew it,” he said quietly with a smile. Alagbara, the _elleth_, shook her head disbelievingly.

Thranduil brushed his fingers against his face and nearly grieved the loss of concealment, but decided against it, for the sight of the scar had apparently brought him into favor with these two elves.

The _elleth_ stubbornly thrust her chin up. “This proves nothing,” she said.

The _ellon_ entered the room.

“So you are the king then,” he said with an impressed tone that the Sinda appreciated. There were some benefits to being king, and his recent journey with a handful of bickering elflings had been quite lacking in those areas.

“Yes,” Thranduil said with a wry smile, “Though I have not felt much like one lately.”

The _ellon_ inclined his head politely and Alagbara rolled her eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, _hir nin,_” he began hesitantly, making a vague gesture to his face and searching for the right words.

“Yes I do mind but I suppose I will have to say one way or another...” Thranduil trailed off as he spotted a tangle of chestnut locks and doe-eyed faces peering out from a room adjacent to his and wound up his face with a nearly frantic urgency. He did not want the children to see such things too much.

_Orc indeed_, he thought wryly.

A smile split his face as they all came rushing into his arms with a force that made him backpedal. Words gushed from their lips like a tide as he picked up Fararth and tried to quiet them.

The other two elves in the room stood by silently, trying to comprehend the absurdity of the situation.

“If you would please gather the leaders of this settlement as it would spare me from having to repeat myself...?” Thranduil managed, leaving a question open to the _ellon’s_ name as the elfling squirmed about and tugged at his hair.

“Nimmîr,” he offered, “Yes, uhm, of course _hir nin_.” he delivered a jerky bow and vanished outside. Alagbara whirled on her heel and wordlessly left.

Thranduil turned to the children. He sat down on the edge of the bed as they clustered around him, Fararth curling upon his lap and Estella making herself comfortable under his arm. The older two sufficed themselves by leaning against him.

“Are you all well?” Thranduil said, nodding to himself as four yeses piped up. He stroked Minaitir’s hair with loving fondness and chuckled as Estella and Fararth yawned simultaneously.

“These elves treated you well?” they all nodded with contented, drowsy expressions.

“You slept a long time,” Estella noted absently.

“I did?”

Helgilion nodded and answered. “Since when you fainted yesterday until now.”

Thranduil had already established it was afternoon. He had indeed slept long, though he still felt wearied. He cast a quick glance to his pack still slumped in the corner. _I still have to decide what to do with the Ring... and the journal_, he thought with a pang.

“I did not _faint_ I merely...”

“Fainted,” insisted Minaitir with a wry smile, the first one in a long while.

Thranduil huffed and decided that it was better off if the children were not under everyone’s feet when he went to meet with the officials.

He was about to order them all to bed when a smug Minaitir chanted something under his breath. Thranduil raised a challenging eyebrow and looked down at him.

“What was that, son?”

Minaitir smirked and repeated it louder in a sing-song voice.

“You got hit by a _giiirrlll_.” The elflings giggled and he tweaked their ears as they all began to chant in between snickers.

“All right, all right, you asked for it! Off to bed!” He pushed them off of him and shushed their groans.

“But it’s still light outside!” Helgilion protested.

“That’s unfortunate.”

“And this is the only bed here!” Estella added.

Thranduil gave them all a reproachful look. “You can only stay here if you are absolutely quiet.”

They all nodded. He sighed and leaned against the headboard and took the journal from an inner pocket of his tunic as the children snuggled into the bed.

He stared at the cover, lightly tracing over the fading gold leaf. His thoughts drifted to Legolas as it had several times during his journey. He wondered where he was, praying he was safe. He wondered what he was doing right now; if he ever thought of his father. Wondered who he was with and if he was still in good health.

Thranduil reached out to him, assuring himself that his boy was still alive by the light he felt in the part of his súlë reserved for Legolas. He winced as he came to the torn edge of his heart; the fluttering remnant of what used to tie him to his Celeblessil. He pulled back and tried to banish his line of thought. Thinking of Legolas only brought him hurt. He could do nothing now. He forced himself to think of something else.

Minaitir inched an eye open. Then he sat up. Thranduil stared at him and he smiled shyly as all the other elfling’s eyes popped open as well.

“We can’t seem to get to sleep.”

Thranduil nodded in consideration. “Seems that way,” he said neutrally.

Minaitir wedged himself under the Sinda’s arm. “Could you tell us a story?”

Thranduil smiled. They reminded him so much of his Legolas.

“Well I suppose, seeing as how its the only way to send you ruffians off to your dreams.” The elflings settled in and he began.

“Now, there was once a boy, much like you four, though a good bit older. A stubborn one he was at that. He always went off to where he ought not to and he could be the rudest thing you ever did see at times,” Thranduil began with a faraway look of nostalgia.

“Well, his _ada_ was a rather important fellow and had oftentimes left the boy alone to take care of whatever business important-like fellows do. You see, his _ada_ was having a rather hard time bringing up this boy all by his lonesome, and the boy could get into a mess of trouble when he was in the mind to do so—“

“Was his mother dead?” Minaitir asked, understanding in his youthful eyes.

Thranduil stopped and bit his lip. “Yes, she was son.”

After a pause, he began again.

“Now, back to the boy. You see, its not like he _wanted_ to get into all the trouble he had managed to tangle himself up in, he was simply lonely.

“Many years passed and the boy didn’t get much better. Him and his _ada_ moved to a new home, far across the country full of new elves. Some of the elves did not like the boy and his _ada_ very much, while others did.

“But it was with one of those very elves that the boy made a friend. Well, at least he thought he made a friend, only she hadn’t really taken a liking to him at first. But eventually, she warmed up to him some and they really did become friends. And with this friend he did nearly everything. They went hunting together, and she even taught him how to run amongst the trees—“

“She... they fell in love didn’t they,” Estella said with a smug smile under sleepy eyelids.

A slow smile spread over Thranduil’s face. “That they did, _penneth_, that they did.” He paused, wallowing in distant memories of brighter days.

“And?” Helgilion prodded in a quiet voice so as not to disturb Fararth who had already dropped off to sleep.

“Well the boy and his friend—well I suppose he wasn’t really a boy anymore—he had grown up together with this friend of his and they had the best of times together. One day the _ellon_ even got enough stern stuff to ask the elleth to marry him. And so they married.

“Years passed, seasons shifted and time shaped the world around them. Problems arose and the _elleth_ and _ellon_ had gotten into several fights, but they had always been able to make amends and dwell in peace once more.

“Oh, and then the tree. You see, the _elleth_ had always adored the trees so — beech was her favorite— and she often dragged the _ellon_ into the trees with her for a quiet moment in harmony with the essence of _Ëa_. But the _ellon_, clumsy thing he was, had never felt quite right skipping across the branches as they dipped under his feet, even if he was with the _elleth_.

“So one day he surprised her, and on a mighty willow overlooking a small pond in their own secret garden she had designed herself, he built them a small flet; a talan of sorts, just without a roof.”

Thranduil huffed fondly, his unseeing eyes betraying his absence in the present. Estella dozed away on his lap.

“She has been positively furious, going on and on about how sticking nails into trees hurt them and such, but the _ellon_ had made sure the flet was built safely within the branches, without hurting the tree. She wasn’t so angry after that,” he said with a laugh. Helgilion was out.

“And that was their favorite place to be together. The _elleth_, she had several ribbons tied to a small twig up on the flet, and each color meant a different place in the garden they would meet. She wore a different color every day for the evening meal and they would look up at the stars nearly every night together on their flet in the secret garden.” He sighed softly, a frown creasing his forehead, for those days were no more.

“She died too, didn’t she?” Minaitir asked in a small voice.

Thranduil looked down at him. “Why do you say that?”

Minaitir fiddled with the edge of his tunic. “Well, my _naneth_ was a very nice _elleth_ too, and she died.” The elfling lifted a face pinched with sorrow to the Sinda. Thranduil’s downcast countenance gave the young one his answer. “Why do all the nice people always have to die?”

Thranduil stroked Minaitir’s hair soothingly. “Well, think of it like this; when you are in a garden which flowers do you pick?”

“I don’t pick flowers. _Especially_ from a garden. They will die if you do.” Minaitir’s furrowed brow betrayed his suspicion. “You’re the naughty _ellon_ from the story, aren’t you? You probably picked flowers, too,” he said with a reprimanding raised eyebrow that looked quite silly on his childish face.

Thranduil laughed and ruffled his hair, causing him to sputter slightly and then quiet, so as not to wake the other elflings.

“Yes, I was the _ellon_ from the story, but that’s besides the point. If you were to pick flowers from a garden, say for your _naneth_, which ones would you pick?”

“The prettiest ones.”

“Exactly.”

Sympathetic understanding dawned on Minaitir’s face. He lowered his head and continued to fiddle with the hem of his tunic. A few beats of silence passed, and Thranduil nearly thought him asleep, but for the quiet voice that floated up to him.

“How did he feel, when his _naneth_ died?”

“Who?”

“Your son. How did he feel?”

Thranduil was somewhat surprised by the question. “Well,” he began slowly, “he was heartbroken at best, and... very lonely I imagine.” Thranduil bit his lip. _He was only lonely because you were not there for him like his mother always was_. “But I suppose you know all that,” the Sinda finished, hoping the subject would switch to a less emotionally taxing topic.

Minaitir nodded against Thranduil’s chest and yawned mightily. A single tear slipped free from his lashes, and he whispered,

“I feel lonely too sometimes. I miss my _ada_.”

The Sinda swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled the elfling closer, resting his cheek atop his brown head. Within a few moments, Minaitir was sound asleep.

Thranduil retrieved the journal from the small table beside the bed, slowly and carefully so as not to disturb the children in their dreams. Steeling himself, he opened the journal to a random page and lifted it to a fading beam of light streaming through the ancient boards of the shanty.

The date at the top was smudged with a fingerprint so that it was unreadable. He scanned the page.

‘_Today I had a very fine morn. Only had two meetings which passed rather quickly, with special thanks to the elleth who had managed to spill half a wine bottle on my robes. She was flustered and apologetic but I had been relieved for the excuse to leave that accursed room._’

Thranduil smiled; he and his father were very alike.

‘_Like I said a very good morn. At least until it was reported to me that my small operation was beginning to crash._’

Thranduil leaned in. He was talking about the wealth scattered over the country.

‘_Blasted humans and blasted dwarves. How dare they decide to freely use my wealth in such a manner! I was furious to say the least. That was when I decided to ban further use of said wealth. Thieving scoundrels. How dare they._’

He smiled and suppressed the urge to laugh a bit. His father did not anger easily, but it was quite a sight when he did. His face would turn red and his left eye would twitch. It was really quite funny actually, when you learned not to fear him. Of course, Thranduil was often the subject of Oropher’s anger, so he had gotten used to the blazing countenance where any other being with their senses intact would run as fast as their feet could carry them.

‘_At least my young Thranduil didn’t manage to get himself into much trouble this day. He had even finished the reports I had given to him before sneaking off on his horse. He is becoming more obedient by the week. I dearly hope it’s not just a phase. I do think it has something to do with the young elleth he is seeing. A Silvan she is, but if she can keep him leashed as such I dearly hope they marry.’_

The entry ended there. The Sinda smiled and brushed his fingers over the page. He had no idea his father thought that way of his relationship with Celeblessil. She had tamed him in a way, he supposed.

Thranduil flipped to the last filled page. The handwriting was a bit shaky and not as neat as some of the prior entries.

‘_SA 3430_

_‘The Counsel was held today. We will go to war along with Amdír from Lothloríen and Anárion from the South along with a party from Khazad-dûm under the authority of the Noldo King Gil-Galad and the human King, Elendíl. _

_‘We set out on the morrow. I yet grieve the loss of Greenwood’s Ring, for I had hoped for it to come into my possession by the time this war began. The brewing of such conflict and the preparation has restricted me the time for journeying North into the Grey Mountains and retrieving it, for I have taken the liberty of sketching out a map of its location after a bit of prodding for information from Thranduil.’_

The Sinda nodded absently, remembering how he had seethed while his father fired question after question. It was difficult to remember small things such as the Ring when he had been far more concerned about avoiding the great slashing claws, swooping tail, and flurries of flame from the Serpent.

‘_Alas, as I do not know if it were to hold equal properties of power had I retrieved it, for I doubt that letting it sit near a rotting dragon’s corpse for a number of decades would help it maintain its Light. Or if would altogether be Darkened... Ah, it matters not.’_

Thranduil nearly gasped aloud. _Of course! _He had lost the Ring in the Grey Mountains. The evil presence of the Serpent— dead as it may be— most probably corrupted it. He sent a glare to his pack still slumped in the corner that housed the cursed object. _You have been far too much trouble_, he chided with a shake of his head.

_‘I have an aversion to the thought that this entry might be my last, lest this conflict take my life. Yet I would rather it be my last then have the following be a lament (alas, my heart repels the very thought of writing this) for the death of my son. I would bid Thranduil stay if I did not know of the patriotism that burns in him. He will not tolerate the thought of being left behind. _

_‘And so we march to war. Eru protect us all.’_

Thranduil blinked away the burn in his eyes. His head swam with newly acquired memory and he kept his chest numb to the memories that began to plague him once again. I wish I could talk to him one last time. To apologize— He cut off his train of thought before he drowned in his sea of compiling wishful regrets.

He closed the journal with a faint crackling of aged parchment, relishing in the old, dusty scent. A single folded paper stuck out from between the pages. Thranduil pulled it out and unfolded it with care, studying it.

The paper was old and worn, but not as much so as the rest of the journal, indicating that this was more recently drawn. When it was fully open, it was quite evident that it was a map. A map of the Grey Mountains it seemed, as it was written there in crisp Tengwar.

The mountain range was all laid out in a series of twists and turns and triangular markings that indicated a cave of some sort, and wide-mouthed ‘v’s that corresponded to a ravine.

Thranduil squinted and held the map closer to the light. He now saw the difference in two different types of ink; one faded and looked about as old as the parchment, though he could tell it was a better quality than the other for the color was richer, even faded. The other ink seemed a more diluted kind that was common among the general population. This latter ink, though, was definitely more recent.

The differences in the ink consistency were subtle and hard to discern in the fading light, but what was more evident was that the two inks were quite obviously written by two different hands.

Besides that there was a clear pattern of the two handwritings. And Thranduil suspected he knew exactly who wrote them.

One, the older, expensive ink was written by his father; the general outline of the mountains and a small circled area with a side note that showed that’s where he suspected the Ring was after draining his source of information, which was, in-coincidentally, Thranduil himself.

The other, less prestigious and more recent ink was done by the hand of no other than Ausocitin.

Of course, Thranduil didn’t have much substantial proof to back his claim but it simply made the most sense that Ausocitin had acquired this journal with the map, found the Ring and defined the details in the map of the Grey Mountains, and then brought it back to use against Thranduil when he discovered it was, in fact, tainted.

The Sinda thought back to the way the ex-adviser had struggled with him to keep the Ring out of his possession. It had been the red-haired woman that had proffered the cursed thing anyhow.

Then it all clicked together in his mind.

Ausocitin had very well known of the darkened state of the Ring, and his original plan had been for it to wind up in Thranduil’s hands so as to weaken him or at least cause him to act in a way that would completely sever any of the Silvan people’s remaining affections for their king.

Thranduil shuddered at the very thought.

Apparently, the enticing pull of power the Ring promised had snared Ausocitin in it’s trap, and he had no longer wanted to give it up. The red-haired woman had saved his plans. She was most definitely in league with him. _As was her son,_ he thought bitterly, remembering Jaseric’s brooch being displayed on his unworthy shoulder. The Sinda quickly banished all thoughts of the deceased ellon for he had not the time to mourn now.

There was only one explanation for Ausocitin’s state, and it was that he had handled the Ring too often or too long for him to stay in his right mind, for no decent-minded elf, no matter of how big of a zealous rage he was in would do what he has done now by demolishing a settlement populated by his very own people.

He was too-far-gone. Much like what became of the Ring’s light as it rotted in the evil emanating from the Serpent’s carcass, he thought.

Though his Light had been dimmed, Ausocitin’s scheming mind had not. He compensated for the part the Ring was to play in his little plan to overthrow Thranduil by somehow managing to make himself look like the Elvenking and not bothering to make his ‘identity’ a secret as he went about doing heinous acts to ruin the Sinda’s reputation and what little loyalty was still reserved for him.

Thranduil knew it just had to be Ausocitin who had destroyed this settlement, because then the mystery of why the ellon guard at the twin outposts of the entrance to the settlement would have his father’s journal—for he knew of no one else who would have the information required to get his hands on _that_!— and his own robe!

His theory simply had to be true. Now he only had the small task of convincing the settlement officials that he was not the one guilty for the burning of their homes.

It was then that Nimmîr entered. He opened his mouth like to make an announcement but closed it uncomfortably as he took in the sight of the four elflings curled up with the the Elvenking on the rickety old bed.

Now, how he wished he had something more to offer than said rickety old bed to this ellon who claimed to be the Sindar King. Nimmîr corrected himself; the ellon he himself believed to be the king.

Nimmîr met Thranduil’s expectant raised eyebrow with an uncomfortable gesture outside, meaning that the elves were gathered and waiting on his presence.

He watched closely as the _ellon_ put away a curious green journal of sorts and arranged the elflings sleeping on him with such tender care that made the accusation that he had been the one to destroy their settlement sound just as absurd as the notion of proclaiming that Sauron was no longer evil.

The very thought of such accusation stoked an indignant flame in Nimmîr’s gut as he watched the Sinda kiss one of the elfling’s brow.

He must have been staring, for Thranduil again gave him the expectant expression of a raised brow that very much unsettled Nimmîr.

They walked out of the shanty and out to a small throng of elves seated outside on either half-charred logs or blackened chairs that looked about ready to give out. They formed a loose circle and Thranduil found himself seated in between a sympathetic Nimmîr and an indignant Alagbara.

She shot him a scathing glare out of the corner of her eye and he lifted his chin, not about ready to part with his accustomed intimidating air. Like he had told himself previously, he would not let this fiery-spirited _elleth_ to cow him in any way, though he felt her loyalty would be essential.

The discussion began with a dry remark form a rich-dark-brown-haired _ellon_ on the opposite side of the circle.

“Well, you certainly have the looks of the current king, I’ll grant you that, but then, so did the other villain.”

Thranduil grimaced. The _ellon’s_ words certainly implied that Thranduil the king was a villain as well.

“I have not set foot here in several millennia,” was Thranduil’s response.

“Aye,” commented another, “the king has not set foot in these parts since he was yet a prince, so if you speak the truth, then that is so.” The _ellon_ paused with a promising half-grin, “unless your millennia is measured differently than ours.”

A chorus of chuckles went around the assembly and Thranduil offered a a wry flash of his teeth in his expense. The dry remark reminded him of the pure simplicity and easy nature of the Silvans he fell in love with from the very beginning. Well, the fact that he married one of those said Silvans might have something to do with the fact, he thought with an inward smile.

“I assure you the villain you encountered priorly was my imposter striving to spoil my name and any loyalty among the people.”

The Sinda pretended not to hear the mutter: “you mean spoil it more than you already managed to by yourself,” from somewhere in the audience behind him. Nimmîr had obviously heard the terse remark, for he shifted uncomfortably next to Thranduil.

“Can you prove it?” asked an _elleth_ somewhere to his left.

“Not other than the fact that I found my father’s journal and a robe of mine in the hands in one of your dead outpost guards. No other than my adviser that has gone completely rogue will have had the means to access such items.”

“An adviser gone rogue you say?” Nimmîr inquired, perking up attentively.

“What explains the fact that the stronghold has failed to deliver the customary supplies?” shouted an _elleth_.

Thranduil turned to Nimmîr.

“Oh yes. Perhaps you would all like to know that the stronghold is under siege by a very large group of humans led by said rogue adviser. I myself saw crates and crates of the very vials he used to wreck his destruction here,” he said calmly.

Murmurs erupted and were hushed by the first brown-haired _ellon_ who had spoken.

“We can eliminate the probability that this _ellon_ himself is leading these humans or possesses the vials, for I can see that there had been an evident attempt on your life, and that is not possible to fake.”

Eyes involuntarily turned to him and Thranduil quickly adjusted the collar of his tunic over the fresh scar on his neck from Tauriel.

“Can we please return to the question of whether or not this _ellon_ is who he claims to be?” Alagbara had spoken.

Another _ellon_ to his right asked another question. “Nimmîr, you said there was something about this ellon that compelled you to believe him. Do you care to enlighten us?” He directed the question at Thranduil.

“And I will answer that with a question of my own. Has there been any disturbances from the Serpent in the North since the massacre?”

Elves looked at each other but said nothing. Finally Alagbara took up the discussion.

“Why bring this up now? This will help prove nothing—“ The bitterness was evident in her voice until she was interrupted by Thranduil.

“Just answer my question, _saes_.”

She looked down and bit the inside of her cheek before reluctantly answering. “No.”

“No, because the Serpent is dead. I killed him.”

Protests floated out from the audience.

“Maybe the Serpent is dead, but it was certainly not killed by the prince. It is common knowledge that—“ an _elleth_ began.

“The missing soldiers,” interjected Nimmîr, cutting the _elleth_ off.

“Exactly!” Thranduil intervened. “It is common knowledge. A rumor spread by the very adviser that has gone rogue. He has been planning to take the throne since I was yet young and conjured this rumor in his favor.”

“Give it to us plain and simple,” commanded the brown-haired _ellon_.

“I killed the Serpent,” Thranduil insisted. This was a difficult conversation to have, not just because of the story he had tried so hard to conceal was going to come out, but that a phrase worded wrong could send any given present elf into a temper, and all the others would instinctively side with them.

“Prove it!” Alagbara shot back.

Thranduil bit his lip nervously and let his concealment slip away. Several gasps erupted from the crowd and even Nimmîr leaned back.

“My father did not know that I had taken a company North to slay the beast. I was the only one to survive. I had to disappear for a time while healing, and it was then the rumor was spread.”

Thus his identity was proved, for nothing but dragon fire could cause the skin not to even knit back together.

“_Hir nin,_” began the brown-haired elf slowly with a respectful dip of his head. “Your story rings true. Let us move on to the question of whether or not this adviser will return with his exploding vials. Why did he choose to come to this settlement?”

Thranduil thought for a moment when a smile of realization dawned on his face. “You do have a share of gold held here, do you not?”

The elves began to rise, regarding him in a new light. “Yes indeed _hir nin_. Right this way.”

The Sinda nodded and rose as well. “Yes, he will be back. But this time we will be ready for him.”

oOoOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I am sure at least some of you have heard the flower quote but it fit here. :P I promise the story Thranduil tells to the elflings is important so remember it. ;)
> 
> Thank you all for your encouragement and enthusiasm!
> 
> Special thanks to Scribbles-on-Parchment for looking this over!


	33. Let the Show Begin

Chapter 33~ Let the Show Begin

Elrohir woke to the buzz of voices. Blearily, he opened his eyes and was reminded of his location, and his mission, and how it had all gone terribly wrong. He took a deep breath and grimaced at the ache in his middle.

He barely then realized he was tied upright to a tree. _Well this just makes things harder_, he thought as he moistened his parched lips.

He still had to try and make their plan work. A glance above proved that Elladan was still there and waiting.

He filtered through several possibilities, still leaning limply against the bindings, just in case, though by the sound of it no one neared him by more than a few meters.

A grin spread across his face when he recalled just what Legolas had told them about the superstitious manner the humans acted towards him, a Firstborn. _Maybe we can make this work after all..._

A quick glance proved that the _Edain_ had not yet noticed his return to the waking world. Elrohir let his head fall forward and he closed is eyes, fingering the rope around his wrists. He felt around his leather vambraces and could hardly believe his luck.

His small knife was still in it’s hidden sheath built into his right vambrace. He did remember Legolas mentioning that most of the _Edain_ were simple farmers and other such common folk, and did not exactly have a knack for weaponry, thus not detecting the clever possibility of having a knife hidden in such a way. They had only managed to besiege the stronghold with sheer overwhelming numbers, after all.

Listening closely to make sure there was no one near him, Elrohir slipped the small, finger-length blade from the sheath and got to work on sawing his restraints.

He suppressed a smug smirk and killed his glow down to the minimum. Had his eyes been open, they would have shone with a light of pure mischief, a look that if detected early enough, might mean you still had a chance to run and not look back.

_Let the show begin..._

Elrohir began mumbling elvish under his breath—Quenya just to be safe— to get attention.

Shuffling footsteps and bewildered murmurs neared him and indicated it was time to implement the next section of his spur-of-the-moment plan. He began to speak louder, eyes closed and still slumped forwards. This time he worded his sentences in an understandable way, telling Elladan his plan. The rope was almost completely severed now...

“Alright, alright now! This had better be worth the disturbance!” said a voice that Elrohir recognized to be the Man that was the supposed leader here. Besides the other one he had already eliminated apparently... the Man who was conjuring suspicious concoctions in that tent of his...

The accumulated crowd parted to let the man through to the ominously chanting elf.

Jaen wiped his hands on the handkerchief that was ever in his pocket and looked over Elrohir, squinting.

_The rope is nearly severed..._

He chanted louder, postponing the thought of how ridiculous he might look right now. He nearly pitied Elladan for having to keep quiet through his act. Hopefully his brother was at least paying attention to what he was saying.

Jaen approached the bound elf and shoved the handkerchief in his pocket with a scowl, pulling at Elrohir’s eyelids.

In a split second, Elrohir’s hand flashed up with the glint of steel soon stained red as he slashed it across the Man’s throat.

Jaen was dead before he hit the ground.

The crowd recoiled in shock, looking dumbly at each other in a silent question of who should assume the position of leader. Jaen hadn’t been a leader, but Gresham—the Man Elrohir had eliminated first—had been.

Everyone had followed Jaen’s commands simply because he was very close to Ausocitin and had a tent full of mysterious and foul-smelling potions and poisons. He had made his entire tent disappear and blend in with the very forest around it at his command, and that was a feat that inspired caution, if not fear.

Elrohir was quickly free of all restraints. He stood uncertainly in the middle of the quavering throng, Jaen’s corpse sprawled awkwardly at his feet. All was silent but for the faint dripping of blood into the earth off his small knife held upright.

A few of the _Edain_ surged forward with sudden shouts. Elrohir unleashed his light with a sudden blaze of brilliance, shouting the next command in Quenya to Elladan at the exact same moment, and causing any that had been close to him to turn tail and run.

Someone came from behind him, trying to tackle him to the ground from his waist. A few practiced moves had the assailant flipped over the elf’s slight shoulder and unconscious on the ground within seconds, quite impressive really, but for the fact that he had lost hold of his knife.

Elrohir had barely the time to lift his head before another weight crashed into his side, causing him to sidestep rapidly to not be crushed under the bulk. He let another flash of light surge through him as he shouted an affirmative to his brother in the trees. An arrow appeared in the attacker’s back and he slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Shouts of alarm rang through the camp as everyone scurried in opposite directions. Elrohir’s heart became heavier as each life was cut short. This is necessary, he told himself. For the sake of Greenwood. We need chaos. Elrohir had the sudden urge to laugh at the thought. Him and his dear twin brother were quite well-versed in the ways of chaos.

He deftly glanced around the clearing. People ran around screaming as realization dawned about them that the elf was vastly dangerous. The flames of an abandoned torch licked at the dry leaves littering the forest ground and they quickly blazed to life. His eyes darted to a stack of the vial-filled crates and back to the armed men advancing on him.

oOo

Ashtan could hardly believe his eyes. He watched frozen as a recruit lunged for the elf, swinging his sword high as to free his head from his shoulders. The elf ducked quickly and stepped into the man’s swing. Another burst of light from the creature nearly blinded him as he heard it’s accursed voice call out once more.

The frightful glow extinguished and suddenly the recruit was thrown to the side, dead. The elf had done it once again! How mighty must this dark creature be to kill with a mere touch?!

Ashtan backpedaled as swift as his injured leg could carry him, shivering with fear and shaking his head disbelievingly. He had been considerably intimidated when Jaen had completely transformed the mastermind behind the whole scandal—also an elf he noted with increasing anxiety— from a brown-haired, slim-shouldered, angular-faced sprite, to a silvery-blond, considerably sturdier, fine featured lord. He had even gotten taller! The sight of it had left him reeling, but _this_—! This was beyond his comprehension.

He had spent the whole while they had held the younger blond elf watching the creature; how his unnatural skin shimmered and how his soulful eyes pierced the back of your head, and that his remarkable skill mismatched his youth.

And now here was another of these beings—wreaking havoc on their whole camp. _And there was only one of him_! Ashtan was suddenly very grateful the blond elf hadn’t had a fiery temper.

The elf erupted in another flash of light that made Ashtan jerk with horror. The flash died out and suddenly it was near the fire that had begun to creep across the forest floor of dry leaves.

They needed aid. And quick.

Ashtan angled himself toward Jaen’s tent. He wasn’t going inside it—heavens no— but from the support pole at the entrance hung a commander’s horn. He would summon the other camps if they had not already been attracted by the all the ruckus.

oOo

Elrohir spotted a limping man making a dash for the tent. His first immediate thought was that there must be something of importance, or some sort of weapon, so he should most definitely follow.

He was beginning to weary and didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the brilliant flashes of light and still manage to not get caught by the swarming hoard of humans. Though he doubted that they would still keep him alive after this...

The merry thought encouraged him to erupt into another flash of light. It was considerably dimmer than the first and he could feel the ache in his bones. He needed an alternative.

The limping man was at the tent entrance and Elrohir gritted his teeth under the strain of trying to run and fighting off the persons plaguing such movement. The man was at the entrance but it was there that he stopped. Cold horror seeped into Elrohir’s veins when he heard the shrill, piercing cry of a horn that was held up to the man’s lips.

Elrohir lunged, toppling the injured man and cutting the blast short. But the damage was done. The least he could do now was buy himself a bit more time.

Man grappled with elf, the former clawing at his opponent’s face to bring him down to compensate for his weak leg. Ashtan looked into the fair face so similar to the elf child that had planted it’s knife in his leg and rage heated his face. The little worm had gotten away from him last time, but he would most certainly kill this one to make up for it.

Ashtan twisted his wrist out of the elf’s grasp and jabbed the horn into his side with the other. The horn shattered upon impact, breaking with a sickening groan as he then let it drop to the ground. Adrenaline rushed through his veins and a fell smile crept across his lips. He had just broken some of the elf’s ribs. He steeled his foot into the ground, his hands going back up to claw at the elf’s face, this time clutching a knife from his belt. The vain creature grappled and twisted to escape the blade.

The din increased as another legion of men crashed through the underbrush and into the clearing, weapons poised for attack.

Shouts from the human passerbys informed them that a dark elf had broken free and was now decreasing the camp to shambles. They charged forward to eliminate the threat.

Elrohir jerked to face the oncoming trample of feet and jangle of steel. Making good use of the distraction, Ashtan lunged forward, throwing both of them into the tent with a cry in that cursed language from the elf as a flash of light blinded him.

oOo

Elladan whirled in stunned surprise when the horn’s blast ricocheted amongst the trees. He looked down just in time to see Elrohir struggling for purchase with the adan that held the horn. Elladan nocked another arrow and whipped his head around for his eyes to be met with the reinforcements.

Elrohir was locked in combat for a second before tumbling backward into the tent, just as he let out one last burst of light. Elladan could tell it would be his last for he must be very weary for conjuring so much light so suddenly in a consistent pattern as he had been doing.

The _Edain_ below let out shocked gasps. Elladan was confused for a moment, then realized that from the humans’ angle on the ground, it probably looked like his brother had entirely disappeared along with his human opponent.

Elladan’s heart had dropped like a rock in his stomach when Elrohir had gotten caught and doubt shadowed his mind for the success of their flimsy—and quite ridiculous, now that it was mentioned—plan. But his dear, ingenious little brother had turned it around. The sight of Elrohir’s head lolling and the muttered instructions in Quenya was laughable, but had evidentially worked.

Now Elladan just had to keep anyone else from going inside the tent to buy his twin some time...

A trademark grin of mischief lit up his eyes as he rolled one of the white orbs between his fingers. _Twin... yes._

Stuffing as many as would fit into the pouch strapped to his belt, Elladan flitted through the branches with surprising agility for a Noldo to the side of the camp opposite the tent Elrohir had ‘disappeared’ into.

He hurled one of the orbs into the ground right below and dropped into the explosion of fog, hoping it would give the effect that Elladan had appeared. Or rather that ‘Elrohir’ had appeared. Elladan didn’t exist to the Edain... just a very magical, very terrible elf that could kill with a mere touch.

“He’s appeared!”

“Over here!”

“Move, _move_!”

“No! _Run_!”

“We are all doomed!”

“Save yourself, _run_!”

“Where is he?”

“Kill him! _Kill him!_”

As soon as Elladan landed, he released a volley of arrows while the fog was still too thick for mortal eyes, punctuating each release with a shout in Quenya. May as well keep up the tradition, he thought with a humorous twinge.

He grimaced as several screams tore through the air, attesting to the accuracy of his marksmanship. He could not shake the clinging feeling that he was dirty in a way with each life he took.

_FortheGreenwoodfortheGreenwoodfortheGreenwood_, he chanted mentally. _This is necessary._

The churning of feet through the carpet of dead leaves added to the deafening din of shouts and yells. Several humans were vainly trying to stamp out a fire at the edge of the camp, while others were advancing on him through the dissipating fog, pushing their fleeing comrades from their path.

_They are coming closer! _Elladan realized with alarm. He reached behind him for another arrow; his hand met thin air.

His heart began to race. He sprinted into the middle of the chaos, desperate to keep the _Edain_ occupied and give Elrohir a chance. Several humans recoiled in shock as Elladan appeared through the fog seemingly only seconds after he had ‘disappeared’ on the other side of the camp.

“It’s over here!”

“Don’t let it touch you!”

‘_It’, thanks._

“He’s out of arrows!”

“Go go go!”

“Beware it’s dark magic!”

Elladan glanced around and grabbed one of the orbs from his pouch, shouting nonsense in Quenya before hurling it at the nearest human that had an arrow already aimed at him. He hurtled into the branches above, using all the skill and agility he possessed to make it to another spot as fast as he could, making sure to make his next spectacle of attraction away from the tent.

“He’s disappeared again!”

“Where is it?!”

“Holy heavens, it _disappears_ too?!”

Elladan repeated his prior process; smashing an orb into the ground and landing in the vortex of swirling fog and running into the chaos, tossing the next bomb to the nearest person with a shout, and disappearing back into the foliage above.

Several yelled fearfully in surprise; a good handful of others simply ran from the site.

_I can do this. I can keep this up._ He just dearly hoped anyone wouldn’t soon realize his trickery.

oOoOoOo


	34. Superstition

Chapter 34~ Superstition

Elrohir was pinned under the Man’s bulk inside the canvas enclosure.

He quickly regained his hold on his opponent’s knife-hand poised all-too-close to his face. The man fought madly, still clawing at his face with his other hand, only pausing to smash his fist into Elrohir’s side every once in a while.

Elrohir had heard the crack of the horn breaking and had figured by the rage-tainted glee that entered the man’s eyes at the sound that he thought he had shattered a few of the elf’s ribs. But it was not so. The precious moments the man lost by trying to jab at Elrohir’s ‘broken ribs’ was enough time for Elrohir to roll over to the top, simultaneously wedging his knee between them then pressing it into his opponent’s torso.

Ashtan gasped under the pressure and grit his teeth angrily when the elf wrested the knife from his grasp. Ashtan thrashed about, his foot connecting with something solid.

A crash of wood was heard and shattered glass rained down on them as he felt some liquid soak the leg of his trousers. Ashtan made one last futile attempt to free himself by yanking on the front of the elf’s clothing, causing him to double over and release the pressure of his knee.

Elrohir ducked inside the man’s swing at his face and used the moment to slit his opponent’s throat.

Breathing hard, he untangled the man’s hand from his tunic and stood, a sense of urgency telling him to get outside and aid Elladan, who, from the noise and jumbled Quenya, was undoubtedly covering for him.

But now that he wasn’t preoccupied with saving his neck, Elrohir had a chance to look at his surroundings.

Flimsy wooden shelves lined the walls of the tent, each one filled with either vials of some concoctions or a strange assortment of herbs and roots or dusty old books.

So this is what the human Jaen was accomplishing in all his skulking, Elrohir thought as he ambled over to one of the books.

_Why, it was written in none other than Sindarin!_

Elrohir scanned the page as realization suddenly struck him of the meaning of just what Jaen had been doing with all these mixtures. He shoved the book into his belt, brimming with urgency to show it to his adar.

A particularly loud chorus of shouts snapped back into his current situation. Elrohir snagged his weapons from out of the corner of the tent where they had been taken after his capture. He shrugged on his quiver and made for the entrance of the tent when something in his periphery made him freeze in his tracks, ideas racing rapidly through his head.

He bent down and examined the mixture that had soaked through a section of his dead human opponent’s clothing. It wasn’t blood.

The Noldo rubbed the coarse cloth between his fingers and lifted it to his nose. It didn’t look dangerous. Didn’t smell dangerous either. His skin merely felt wet. But the substance _glowed_. A bright red luminescent gel... Gears turning, Elrohir quickly gathered up several vials of the same substance from one of the other leaning shelves.

He started toward the entrance but then abruptly stopped. It would be quite unwise to disturb Elladan’s show of pretense. He rolled under the opposite side of the tent, coming to his feet and finding himself outside of the clearing where it was considerably darker from the lack of torches. His heart nearly jumped in his throat at the sight of a large, hulking figure—definitely taller than him—sidling right up to him!

He scrambled backwards until his back met the thick canvas of the tent he had just exited.

The creature neared him until he could hear its rasping breath blowing in his face. He shivered and fumbled for his bow, but let it fall limply from his hands, for it was unstrung. His fingers curled around the most convenient object near him—which happened to be one of the vials of luminescent gel—and hurled it into what he made out to be the creature’s face.

_I missed, of course I had to miss, _Elrohir thought with increasing panic as the beast sidled closer and closer on it’s trembling prey.

The glass met the beast’s chest with a crash, leaving behind a bright red, glowing splatter. It let out a bewildered squawk and beat it’s wings.

Elrohir’s eyes widened in relief.

“_Oh sweet Eru!_ Forgive me! I am relieved that it is you.”

The Eagle looked at him sheepishly and let him near. The Noldo promptly buried his face in the Eagle’s smooth, glossy feathers, momentarily wandering off the arduous path of his mountain of troubles.

Mind wandering, Elrohir let his eyes linger on the smother of flame-like luminescence bristling on the great bird’s chest.

He let out a weary chuckle.

“I am sorry to have assailed you so, _mellon nin._ Good thing this stain upon your feathers was made by myself; why, if I didn’t know better I would’ve thought you a fierce and furious fire-drake! My senses would surely have left me then!” he laughed as he fondled the Eagle’s feathers, but his easy mirth quickly faded. He stared at the Eagle, then to the pouch of vials at his hip.

Elrohir glanced back to the tent that concealed the source of the violent din of their adversaries.

“Would you mind returning a favor, _tithen mellon nin?_” asked the Noldo with a distant, calculating look. The Eagle perked as an affirmative, soft eyes bearing a deftly hidden glimmer of intelligence. He could talk, of course, but was uncomfortable doing so to creatures other than his own kin. Elrohir had taken measures to avoid necessary two-way conversations with his comrade once he had learned of it.

The Noldo then promptly kneeled next to a conveniently placed boulder and cracked open yet another of the glass vials, the curious substance lighting aflame as it slithered free of its transparent confinement.

“Well, _tithen mellon nin_. I was never renowned for my artistic abilities but I suppose we can make this work with our combined efforts,” he drawled. Elrohir dragged a finger through the moist substance, feeling as if it was some sort of forbidden fire.

“This is even richer than my last idea. Poor Elladan...”

The irony was lost on the quiet bird.

Sharp, unintelligible shouts from the chaos on the flip side of the tent injected an urgency to his movements.

He bit his lip in concentration, a slather of the forbidden fire, as he had come to call it, adorned his pale fingertips in something akin to a lighted match.

“‘Tis the day I grieve that I have never set eyes upon a dragon,” he said with resigned sigh, getting to work of turning his feathered friend into a beast of flame.

“But then I suppose the _Edain_ know just as much as I do on the details of such a Serpent’s appearance. A fine fire-drake you shall make, _tithen mellon nin!_” Elrohir exclaimed with a flourishing sweep of his fingers across an outstretched wing and a wry smile, unaware of the latest development in his twin’s dire predicament.

oOo

Elladan’s precise gaze skittered across the clearing, from one angry charging adan to the next. He waited until the last moment, reaching into the dwindling pouch of encased orbs of mist at his hip. His heart sped up with every crashing footstep as he sharply drew out his arm and waited for the expected shower of floury fog.

Only this time none came; he had thrown nothing, for his pouch was now empty. Mind racing, he conjured the fiercest voice he could manage, this time in the Common Tongue.

“_Come no closer lest you feel my wrath!”_

Some _Edain_ altogether slid to a stop, others merely hesitated.

Elladan struggled to keep up his elaborate and quite ambitious façade as thick smoke mingled with the haze of many exhausted powdery orbs in the air and clogged his heaving airways. He sputtered slightly and dodged a whistling arrow.

He looked around and realized there were less than a dozen _Edain_ still after him, now just circling him warily. He let his Light flare out in a physical spectacle of his pretentious rage and to hopefully discourage the firing of arrows.

Many of the _Edain_ had taken flight from this foreign creature of doom, but a sizable horde still remained bunched about a great flare of fire as it steadily circled the stack of explosive vials with its devouring reaches. They thrashed and batted at the angry flames, but it was vain. The crates alighted and Elladan was suddenly caught up in matters far more pressing than the _Edain_.

“It is no use!”

“It’s too strong!”

“Run afore it blows!”

“_RUN_!”

Eyes wide, the Noldo searched for a route of escape and bunched his muscles for a leap into the boughs that might prove his salvation. He threw an anxious, pleading glance to the tent. _Elrohir saes... _

Fire erupted in his thigh and he stumbled to his knees, catching the makings of and ungainly sprawl with his hands. An offending shaft stuck out from his leg, warm blood already pooling out of the puncture.

He blinked rapidly and stared at the wavering pinnacle of his new breathtaking source of discomfort. _I never did tolerate foreign objects in my flesh very well,_ he thought in consternation as if still grasping to the crumbling ledge of easy assurance.

A rough, grating sound assaulted his delicate ears as well as the heaving of many breaths. He mustered the strength to lift his head and mildly observed through squinted lashes as the _Edain_ heaved a great steel trough on its side—most likely being initially used to water the great horses—spilling the contents over the hissing flames as they swiftly died out with an angrily defiant wisp of thin smoke. The rebellious tongues of fire were soon stamped out by drenched mesh sacks of the _Edain_.

Elladan lowered his gaze to the ground, unable to move. The world flipped upside down and inside out so that he could no longer tell which leg had been shot so as to collapse on the opposite side. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed away the shifting black blotches from his vision.

He was absently aware of dull thudding of footsteps nearing him and the chorus of shouts as he was now the center of attraction now that the preoccupation has been doused.

His head snapped up to what he could make out to be a figure before he sorely regretted it. The world spun drunkenly and the gaping maw of oblivion threatened to drown him.

The skittish _adan_ stamped upon the jutting arrow like one might kill an insect and recoiled when the elf screamed out in pain and doubled over, grabbing at the hair behind his temples as if his head pained him.

Seeing as nothing unnatural was produced from the creature’s cry, the adan called for aid and his compatriots swiftly answered. Soon the elf was again being trussed up in their thickest rope.

“Holy _heavens_...” gaped one of the humans that was keeping a firm hold of the creature’s shuddering shoulders.

Fear swept over the remaining crowd like a flood and several screamed at the ominous glow of a beast perched in the branches. Swirls of red decorated its body with elegant scrawls of the heat within the beast and illuminated the gleaming eyes and spear-like talons.

It spread its wings and soared low over the camp, causing the enemy to cower in fear. The Eagle (though this was unknown to the _Edain_ below) produced the most guttural sound it could muster, hoping it added a somewhat theatrical flair to the already laughable performance.

The effect was like clockwork.

“A _dragon_!”

“_Beware_!”

“We are all doomed!”

“Cursed elf!”

Elladan was quickly abandoned in a small heap in the rotting leaves, curled in on himself as if wishing away the entire world.

Elrohir, astride the Eagle, let loose a fog bomb to the scurrying below.

“Tis a fire drake!”

“Fly! _Fly_!”

Swooping again, Elrohir caught a glimpse of his twin’s rumpled form and his heart jumped into his throat. _Valar no..._

Squeezing his knees in a silent request, Elrohir reached down and shifted his weight so to pull his brother into his arms.

They were nearly there...

And... _now_!

Elrohir leaned down, tossing a fog bomb into the closest throng of stumbling and fleeing humans for good measure, and caught hold of Elladan’s upper body. Elrohir slid precariously to the side under the added weight and clamped his knees around the Eagle in a desperate attempt to avoid any acquaintance with the unforgiving ground and frantic footsteps of the frightened.

The Eagle took this as a signal and sharply angled his flight upwards. One of Elrohir’s hands slipped from his tenacious cling to his brother and his heart fluttered with panic.

They soared higher and higher. Gritting his teeth, Elrohir heaved.

And to his relief Elladan’s unresisting dead weight slid into his lap. Holding his brother close, Elrohir let his feathery comrade pilot the rest of the flight, uncaring for all but the steady beat of his twin’s heart.

The Eagle’s swift descent scolded Elrohir otherwise. They had one final task to complete.

The original camp where Elrohir had first been taken captive enlarged as they neared it. The Noldo tightened the grip of his knees, less sharply this time, and trained his eyes upon the deceivingly innocent-looking stack of crates. Flexing his hand, he snatched a few of the vials as humans parted the way for the ‘dragon’.

They turned tail and began flying in a direction that would lead them past the line of camps besieging the stronghold.

Taking careful aim, he let loose one of the vials, the camp below exploding in an earth-trembling boom as it chain-reacted with the entire stack.

A fleeting thought had Elrohir fearing the king’s reaction for blowing up his forest, but decided that was not a merry thought for this moment and pushed it away.

Rumor of the fearsome elf-turned-dragon spread like wildfire and evolved conveniently as rumors are prone to do.

The two elves and their trusty steed took a quick detour to sweep over the disbelieving heart of mortals at the other camps, throwing them into a terror as well with the help of the remaining vials and fog bombs.

Once their task was complete, the Eagle gently set them down on a grassy knoll South of the string of enemy camps, then wordlessly took flight again, the words ‘_find the King_’ reverberating freshly in its mind.

Elrohir gasped at the shattered shaft jutting out of his twin’s thigh and promptly went about in preparing the setting to care for the wound.

Elladan moaned softly and blearily cast his eyes up to the coaxing voice of his twin when the offending projectile was removed and professionally cared for. The arrow had not been poisoned, Valar be praised.

“El? El, awaken. _Ú-losto, muindor nin._”

Elrohir fondly brushed a stray strand of damp hair from Elladan’s brow as he stirred.

“_Hurry_ El, I must show someone before I burst!”

Elrohir produced the book he had snatched from Jaen’s tent of concoctions and excitedly held it out to Elladan’s still lightly glazed eyes, not allowing him even a moment to watch the bright spots of the camps as tiny swarming black dots bustled about their preservation.

Elrohir only hoped his adar would take notice of the hole in the siege line they had created, or all would be for naught.

“A book,” stated Elladan, unamused. “You disturb me because of a _dratted book_. I am _injured_ and require _rest_; let me be.” He made a move to turn to lie on his other side, but Elrohir caught his shoulder and shoved the open book before his face.

Elladan glared at him best he could in his drowsy state. His brother gives him a sleeping draught and urges him to read a book. _Perhaps he really had gone mad_, the Noldo thought, recalling the memory of Elrohir’s absurd plan of action and groaned.

He had been fool enough to follow his little brother in the first place. But it had worked. By some sweet miracle the whole silly thing had come together in the end.

Elrohir rapped the parchment insistently and Elladan skimmed over the page half-heartedly. Once finished, he cast an irritated question to his brother worded in his glowering countenance as he struggled to remain in the waking world.

“_Well_?” he growled impatiently. “Just give it to me plain and simple and spare me the sore sight of your dull books.”

Elrohir shook his head in a gesture of hopelessness for his brother’s unenthusiastic perspective of books and replied tautly,

“It tells of ways to tamper with the Eldar’s magic of Concealment, and how to change one’s features entirely. It is rather quite interesting, really and I would—“

“_El_,” his brother growled again.

Elrohir let out a rushed sigh. “Bother. I found it in the curious tent back at the camp—“

“So you _left_ me out there in a horde of angry mortals, while you ambled around and thought up scholarly annotations for the traitor’s choice of literature?! _Valar_ Elrondion, if you ever think you will drag me into another one of your—“

“Oh, hush up, El, _listen_!” Elladan settled for a half-lidded glower and quieted. “Don’t you see? Tauriel said the rogue General had delivered the small flask of Thranduil’s blood she had gathered from her attack to a human healer of some sort. While there, she overheard some of the adviser’s plans,” Elrohir said tactically. “Ausocitin was pressuring the human to make him appear as Thranduil. Which then, explains the blood and this book!”

Elladan was already asleep.

oOoOoOo

**A/N:** If victory by superstition happened in Ranger’s Apprentice, it can happen here too. ;D

A grateful shoutout to any guest reviewers I was unable to personally thank.

Side note: I hadn’t planned on hurting Elladan til it just happened. :) Your welcome.

**Thank you dearly, Scribbles! Much love!**


	35. Never Know What You Got ‘Til it’s Gone

**Recap** (its been a while XC)— Thranduil had arrived to an elven settlement with the elflings and is not accepted very well. A meeting was held and he proved himself to be the true king, getting a suspicion that his rogue advisor, Ausocitin, would be back for a healthy sum of gold hidden within the demolished settlement. He looked through his father Oropher’s journal and discovered a map of the Grey Mountains, marking the estimated prior location of Greenwood’s Ring, and was amended by Ausocitin.

Elrond had questioned Denisale, the ex-captain, and Evlani and Gilgan, two Edain captured from the siege line. Denisale came off clean and was released when he revealed that Greenwood’s Ring was indeed tainted and he had only acted under its influence, while the Edain remained suspected and contained, for they could not answer for their willing collaboration with Ausocitin, and Gilgan’s impersonation of Estel as well as the poisoning of Elrohir.

Chapter 35~ Never Know What You Got ‘Til it’s Gone

Alagbara watched the stately _ellon_ from behind, hands on her hips and her countenance bearing something akin to spite for any who did not know her well enough. If one looked closely, they could see the approval dancing in her eyes and the determined set to her jaw that was the the only element that betrayed her performance of reluctance to be just that; a performance.

After the meeting, Thranduil had been pestered with a myriad of questions and prodded for exact details. She didn't exactly blame them for being so immaculate, as Silvans often tended to be mistrustful and not easily swayed in their values, or in this case, opinions, but she had watched him answer them all with a perfect mask of neutrality that quite expertly hid the anxiousness indicated only by the incessant fiddling of his fingers. She couldn't blame him either; she was one more for action and less talk herself.

Keenly, Alagbara had researched and observed but had then fully submerged herself into the pool of certainty. This _ellon_ surely was who he was, and truly did mean well. Though her impression would have been doubled in size if this _ellon_ were in fact a fake, for his performance was solid and his manner stoic and solemn as anyone would imagine a king of old.

_If he were a fake, he wouldn't have lasted this long,_ she thought flippantly. Alagbara always gave her sharp intuition credit, and benefitted from it.

The scarce light of the moon made itself scarcer and ducked behind a cloud. Few torches burned in the clearing, for the sight of the Eldar was keen, and the eyes of the Green elves were long accustomed to the forest under the cover of the night.

They were making last minute preparations and taking up positions as well as rehearsing the system of their capture.

The gaping mouth of the Golden Niche, as it had come to be called by those who dwelt near, stood before them in the folds of the some great roots. They were charred with ash and the moss that once used to conceal the entrance hung in ragged tatters and left the mischievous wink of the gold inside to lure anyone with a sense of curiosity inside.

Thranduil, after some reasoning, had decided to take the opportunity that Ausocitin would return for the gold, as he imagined his mercenaries were getting restless without the reassurance of something shiny that their toil and vigilance was not in vain.

So they set up a trap.

Nimmîr had urged Thranduil to leave the work up to his warriors, for they were more than capable for stealthily detaining one mere elf (not exactly the most athletic elf either, according to the Sinda). But Thranduil had stood his ground with a steady refusal and a frozen fire burning in his eyes. It seemed that he has been counting on his revenge for a while. Alagbara understood him—in this aspect anyhow—and had encouraged his participation.

Perhaps he saw it as Alagbara trying to be rid of him by putting him in danger, but could probably care less. It was not her fault she had a permanent sneer to her brow and biting lilt to her voice; he had her allegiance and that was enough for both of them.

She would never get her vengeance in the end for the massacre of her family by the Serpent, for it was dead, but would have liked to at least aid its decay with a few added shattered bones to its carcass.

Thranduil's knees dropped into a fighting stance and everyone immediately took cover. Alagbara could see no one from her position but knew it was no false alarm for the Sinda's shifting eyes.

A warrior king he was, she could tell, and respected it. Positive aspects were beginning to add up, and Alagbara almost regretted striking him upon their meeting.

She turned the thought over in her mind and replayed the memory; the look on his face had been priceless. I regret nothing, she decided airily with stiff, affirming nod to herself.

She had just been scanning the clearing which was now empty to prying eyes save Thranduil, when her periphery caught a dark shape slinking out of the shadows towards the towering figure of the Sinda. Alagbara tensed along with several other of her comrades as the glint of steel flashed near the cowled shape’s hand.

She rocked back on her haunches feeling the customary pre-battle adrenaline rush. She almost thought Thranduil oblivious to the figure coming up behind him until she caught the shifting shadow of his fisted hand, adjusting a grip on a weapon most likely.

Thranduil sharpened his ears for the slightest rustling of his attacker’s cloak. He kept his posture relaxed and casual as he scanned the area, impressed with the way the other elves had seemingly melted into the trees or any slightest patch of shadow to be seen. He had been about to add a slur to the Noldor who most certainly would not be able to do such when his attacker made a move.

A hand was at his shoulder and a blade pressed to his throat but he was ready. Turning slightly, he let the point of the dagger in his hand press into the torso of... _an exact mirror image of him?!_

Killing his shock, he tried to keep full alertness as everything began to click together. _The cloak, the dead sentries, the hostility..._

During his small lapse of speechlessness, his opponent had cautiously drawn a small flask from his belt and taken a sip. Thranduil grit his teeth in frustration and pressed his weapon to the elf’s body once again. He struggled to keep a straight face as the illusion melted off the figure’s face and revealed said person to be none other than Ausocitin.

Thranduil was not entirely surprised at this, but couldn’t help but feel belittled by the elf’s scheming. It had gotten him this far anyhow.

“So we meet at last,” said Ausocitin in a venomous whisper. He stumbled back away from the knife, and Thranduil did not bother to relinquish any hold on him. He had a ring of concealed archers anyways. Now was a time to get answers.

“Are you pleased? Or was I supposed to be dead?”

Ausocitin’s eyes skittered suspiciously about the clearing as his villainous smile wavered. He wasn’t stupid; he probably recognized that this was far too easy.

“Dead? Have you thought perhaps that is just what I came to finish?”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow challengingly. “I’m impressed. You have excellent informants.” Ausocitin had not been supposed to know where he was.

The dark elf laughed; fell and gleeful. “I thought you knew? Perhaps I underestimated his skills.”

Thranduil was thoroughly puzzled now. He parted his lips to continue the questioning when the ex-adviser beckoned to something within the shadows.

Thranduil whirled around and his heart dropped in his stomach when a slight figure timidly emerged.

Minaitir.

A lump crept into his throat and his eyes began to sting. _Why...? How...?_ It simply didn’t make any sense.

Ausocitin watched the proceedings with a dark grin.

Minaitir lifted his head and stared defiantly into the Sinda’s disbelieving face, but could not deny the tears shining in his eyes.

Thranduil managed to gather his bearings enough to speak. “_Why, son?_”

Minaitir set his jaw and responded, “For my _ada_. My real one.”

The young one’s words stung deeply. Thranduil had become almost a father to the elfling in the past few weeks they had been together. He barely now came to realize; he loved that boy. It was different with the others, as they had parents.

Ausocitin interrupted the unseen swarm of emotions with a crisp request. “_Well_, do you have it, boy?”

Minaitir clenched his fist conspiratorially and glared daggers at the ellon before taking a few steps forward to his side.

Thranduil’s mind was racing. _What could he have? What does he want—?_

The elfling’s fingers unfolded from the object pressing into his palm and Thranduil actually staggered back in shock.

Hand shaking, Minaitir dropped the Ring into Ausocitin’s hand.

_All is for naught now..._

He dared not call out his archers lest they harmed Minaitir.

Ausocitin’s hand clamped around Minaitir’s deceptively slight shoulder and hissed in his ear, “Your father is _dead_, boy. And you’re my little traitor now, _aren’t you?”_

Before Minaitir even had a chance to snarl in rage, he was thrown to the ground.

Thranduil unsheathed his sword as the ellon took a long draught from his flask, causing him to transform once again into Thranduil’s mirror image. Ausocitin lunged for the Sinda with his own sword unsheathed.

Thranduil parried blow after blow, still in shock from the recent happenings and much weakened by his recent reconnection to the Song.

Minaitir rose from the ground, his eyes alight with fury and Thranduil’s kingly dagger clenched in whitened knuckles.

Thranduil divided his attention between his own battle and the elfling’s indecisive expression as he looked from one ‘Thranduil’ to the other.

The Sinda slashed and jabbed with his sword, mustering his strength with each swing and causing the slighter elf to waver under his powerful hits.

This was not the customary fighting style of the Green folk, as that included much speed and delicate footwork, which is why outsiders may think it more akin to dancing than fighting, but this was rather just a vicious barrage of offense. Ausocitin did his best to parry the blows, but it was evident that he was not a warrior. The illusion he wore may have changed his appearance, but it did not better him physically to the skill of his compatriot. Or rather, nemesis.

Minaitir watched them uncertainly. He did not think the real Thranduil to be so... unseasoned, but would never forgive himself if he harmed the wrong elf. Then his eyes settled on the small flask bouncing on the imposter’s hip as he thrust and parried.

_I don’t remember that... _He jumped into their fray with a shout, knife poised dangerously.

Thranduil dragged his gaze to the small blur of motion flanking him. Alarm surged through him when realization struck that it was in fact Minaitir.

Thranduil rushed Ausocitin, forcing him to backpedal dramatically to avoid the elfling. The villain’s eyes were alight with alarm but with a hint of desperate rage that betrayed his conspiratorial thoughts. Thranduil knew he could not let this tainted elf to get ahold of his little ward.

Ausocitin quavered under the Sinda’s barrage and his eyes alighted on the furious little bundle barreling into him. He knew he would not last like this much longer; he knew he was still alive by the mere fact that Thranduil did not want to kill him. Yet.

He angled his blade to intercept the elfling, but it was quickly thrown upward by the Sinda’s blade. The swords shrieked as they grated against each other, pushing higher above their heads. Thranduil tried to push the obstinate little elfling behind him and out of the fray, but the Gindorellion would have none of it.

Slithering between their light footsteps, Minaitir lunged at Ausocitin. His dagger collided with the flask tied to his belt, piercing it. The liquid inside sprayed out and the ellon looked down at the child with fury as the illusion melted right off his face and he became plain old Ausocitin again.

Alagbara decided that was about as far as she was going to let it go on like this. Drawing her bow she aimed at the ellon who had been revealed as the imposter. She had felt more then heard the astonished murmurs rippling through the trees of her fellow archers when he had simply transformed.

And she fired.

The arrow sped readily towards its target, but was quickly swept off course by the Elvenking’s sword as he pushed the ex-advisor forward and out of the way. He wanted this traitor alive. Alagbara deemed the cost too great and nocked another arrow, ready to end this.

The other archers took her release as a signal and revealed themselves, peppering the area with arrows; not to kill, just deter a straight path.

Thranduil cursed under his breath. He knew the probability of someone other than Ausocitin being hit was low, as the Silvans’ skill with a bow was impeccably polished, but he thought he had made it clear not to fire until he gave the signal!

The Sinda had pushed Minaitir as far into the brush as he could and had thrown himself at Ausocitin to get him out of the first arrow’s path. Acting swiftly, the tainted elf tore the Journal from where Thranduil had hidden it in the folds of his tunic near the high collar and dropped to the ground, rolling out of reach, and kicking out at Thranduil’s recently injured ankle. Disoriented and hissing as an arrow sped uncomfortably close to him, Thranduil called a ceasefire; he had lost sight of Minaitir.

He whirled to face a cry near the brush, only to catch a fleeting glance of a retreating cloak and a small bundle thrown into a bush.

Minaitir clutched his bleeding arm with moist eyes, yelling ‘_shoot ‘im!_’ at the top of his lungs as tears began to stream over his cheeks.

Thranduil collected the elfling into his arms and cradled him with concern. The elves reappeared from their hiding places with solemn faces; Ausocitin was already weaving amongst the tight trees, so that no arrow had a clear path to him. He was swift on his feet but the elves were tired and had not slept for a number of days. He was gone.

Thranduil glared up at the gathering elves from the sobbing child in his arms. His eyes burned with chastisement, but he kept silent and blocked them out; a gesture perhaps even more ominous than had he began yelling.

Minaitir was aware of a hand brushing over his brow and was angered by the way he was comforted by it. _No no no I messed up I’m a traitor now go away, go away!_

“Minaitir.” The elfling buried his face into the Sinda’s chest.

Alagbara harshly gestured with her eyes for the other elves to disperse, not wanting to intrude. She herself had been just as shocked when the child had emerged by the tainted elf’s beckoning. She supposed everything would come to light soon enough.

Thranduil tore open the sleeve of the elfling’s tunic where there was a small bleeding slit made by a knife. Nothing serious, but it made him burn to get his hands around that scrawny neck...

“Minaitir,” he prodded again. “_Penneth_, look at me.”

The elfling looked into the Elvenking’s face at the two gentle fingers under his chin. He sniffed and swiped at his wet cheek with the back of his little hand, finding it so difficult to look into the once harsh and icy depths now melted to sad softness. It made him feel all the guiltier.

“_Why_?”

A deep breath. “I-I wan’ed it to be true. I really, really did, and I didn’ think that it couldn’ be true because I just wan’ed him back so badly and—“

“Shhh, slowly _penneth_.”

_Don’t call me that! I’m not your penneth! _“He said Gindo—my _ada_ was alive. He said he could take me to him,” a pause, “if I told him ev’rything ‘bout you.”

Thranduil nodded slowly, tying a strip of cloth around Minaitir’s arm. “And you told him. But he was lying.”

The elfling nodded and sniffed again. “He said he would kill you if I didn’ bring him the Ring.” Thranduil looked at him attentively as if this was something new. “I didn’ want another _ada_. I didn’ wanna love you. But I do. I _had_ to give it to ‘im.”

Thranduil decided it would be no good to tell the elfling that the only way Ausocitin could have killed him was with the Ring in his possession. The Sinda was only thankful that he hadn’t actually put the Ring on and used it against them.

He did want to govern these people, and he supposed that now that the traitor’s secret was uncovered he had best keep his reputation as pure as it could stay.

Minaitir sobbed, regaining his old accented speech he thought had extinguished. Thranduil bit the inside of his cheek and his eyes met Alagbara’s who had been standing a respectful distance away.

She dipped her head in something akin to an inclination and Thranduil was surprised as that had been the most respectful gesture from her towards him as long as she had known him.

“I’ll fetch a horse. He went northeast.” Thranduil looked back down at Minaitir in a gesture of silent approval to the elleth. She departed.

Minaitir tentatively raised his tear streaked face from Thranduil’s chest with a small, hesitant expression. He cleared his throat and words left his trembling lips in a croak.

“You’re leaving?” It was more a statement than a question.

Thranduil didn’t answer and continued to stare upon his face with an air of serenity that answered Minaitir’s question. But he wanted to hear it plain and simple from the Sinda.

“Now? To go after the dark elf?”

This time Thranduil responded.

“Yes, _penneth_.”

_I SAID DON’T CALL ME THAT! _

Minaitir snuffed again and studied his hands fumbling with the dagger his new father-figure had gifted him up during their journey. He set his jaw.

“I’m coming.”

“No you’re not,” Thranduil countered firmly, if not icily, not missing a beat.

Minaitir was taken aback. He was used to an exasperated sigh and the throwing up of hands when he used that tone, for any who knew him knew it was futile to try and sway him. It was becoming apparent now that Minaitir was contending with an ellon that had a fiery will to match his own, if not surpass it. Had he been asked, Thranduil would have confessed that Minaitir reminded him much of himself in his younger years.

Alagbara returned then with Nimmîr trailing, her face grim and demeanor solemn.

“He took a horse,” she reported as she dropped a pack of traveling supplies at his feet.

Thranduil gave her nod and put the elfling on his feet and kneeled in front of him, taking his shoulders in his hands and looking into his eyes sincerely.

“Now you listen and listen well to Nimmîr. Look after the others.” Thranduil embraced the child one last time and pressed a kiss to his brow. Minaitir nodded, eyes still moist and downcast as he took Nimmîr’s proffered hand and let himself be led away.

Thranduil watched the young one’s back as he timidly trod alongside the larger ellon, a distant expression in his eyes. His gaze remained fixed as he addressed Alagbara.

“He took my father’s journal.” They both knew who he was talking about.

“Was there anything of importance recorded within?”

The Sinda sighed and bit his lip in a conflicted manner, turning to look at her.

“There just might have been. Especially if he came all this way to get it back.” His mind kept recalling the old map stuck within the pages of the journal that showed his father’s attempts to locate the Ring.

A young _elleth_ approached, leading an inconspicuous rust-brown horse and Alagbara quickly relieved her as Thranduil leaped lightly onto the mare’s back, keeping her tossing head in check.

“A party of warriors with be gathered soon, _hir nin.”_

“No; I will go alone. We will not lose him again.” _Hir nin is it?_

“_Hir nin!” Really, what happened? _“We cannot permit you to go alone. That elf is dangerous. He has the Ring for heaven’s sake!” She understood that he wanted personal revenge, but for the sake of his safety, she could not let him just—

“If I do not come back, tell my son I tried.”

“Thranduil you will not—!”

He spurred the horse on and the reins were torn from her hands.

“Consider my proposition; the stronghold needs you,” the king called over his shoulder before horse and rider were reduced to a mere figure in the distance weaving expertly amongst the trees.

Startled from the king’s sudden departure, elves began to flock around Alagbara who’s face was still contorted in frustration.

“Alagbara?” an _ellon_ who had taken part of the meeting by the name of Cumôrdin had spoken. The elves looked at her uncertainly, seeking her partition in their decision of whether or not they should depart for the stronghold. “Well?”

“We go.”

Cumôrdin was evidentially surprised. “But it is folly! If the palace Guard and the Royal Guard couldn’t ward off the _Edain_, how much more so can such a small force as this?!” he said, sweeping out his arm to indicate the elves in the settlement.

Alagbara opened her mouth to retort when a flash of chestnut burst into their gathering.

“Is he gone?” Estella asked in a rush of breath.

Nimmîr soon followed, a squirming Fararth in his arms and Helgilion pulling him forward by his arm. They targeted Cumôrdin with their expectant stares. He looked away uncomfortably.

Alagbara smiled kindly; kindly enough that the other elves began to murmur at her strangeness.

“Yes, _pennyth_. But we ride out to the stronghold at dawn.”

Delighted smiles spread on the children’s faces; except for Minaitir who hung around Nimmîr’s heels, scuffing his boots in the dead leaves that carpeted the soil.

“That means we can be with _ada_ and _nana_ again!” Fararth exclaimed, bouncing in Nimmîr’s arms.

Cumôrdin studied his boots guiltily as Alagbara pierced his head with a pointed glare.

“Valar save us,” Cumôrdin muttered under his breath with a resigned sigh and departed to gather the rest of his belongings—or rather, what was left of them— along with the other elves.

Alagbara was no leader but was weighed highly in the settlement’s respects, so the majority tended to trail her. She was known for her distrustfulness, and others knew that if she was firm about one thing or the other, she was most likely in the right. She was considered wise to her people; as wise as wood elves can be, anyways.

“We all leave.” That attracted some more attention. “Not everyone can fight, but we no longer have a home here. If we manage to free the stronghold, we shall have a home there.”

“And if we don’t?” called an _elleth_ from the diluted crowd.

Alagbara exchanged a glance with Cumôrdin.

“Pray for a miracle.”

oOo

Denisale pulled his bandaged arm closer to his body and grimaced when the gate leading to the dungeons creaked.

Quietly slipping through the entrance, he descended to where Evlani and Gilgan were being kept. The _Edain_ startled slightly when he made an appearance and Evlani smoothed her dress.

“I need to talk to you,” came Denisale’s whisper.

oOo

Elrond found it odd when he saw the keys to the dungeons gone from their usual peg outside the staircase tunnel leading to the lower level. He was certain he had left them here the night before, after the questioning...

Examining his predicament further, Elrond came to the gate leading to the cells. It creaked under a cold draft of air, marginally open.

_The gate I had most certainly left locked..._

Warily descending, Elrond scanned the dank hall and his heart nearly skipped a beat.

The _Edain’s_ cell was wide open with the ring of keys still in the lock. Denisale lay sprawled awkwardly on the stone corridor.

Elrond neared the old captain, heart pounding in cold anticipation. He rolled Denisale on his back...

And revealed a pool of bright red soaking the front of his tunic. A knife hilt jut out of his chest—

He was dead.

oOoOoOo


	36. Evacuate

Elrond sighed wearily, elbows propped on his knees and rubbing his brow as if it pained him. A hand squeezed his shoulder and he looked up to the gentle smile of healer Aldaner.

“Are there any leads as to who would do such a thing?”

Elrond shook his head, studying his hands folded in his lap. His body ached from sleepless nights and his face was tired and drawn. Everything was falling apart through his fingers! An elf was killed right under his very nose for heaven’s sake!

“There’s no question as to who has done it. It was those _Edain_. I found their cell empty with the keys in the lock and the only way for them to get their hands on them were if Denisale brought them down.”

Aldaner bit her lip thoughtfully, brow creasing. “I never wish to think a fellow kinsman guilty, but why do you suppose he was down there in the first place? Could it be possible that he was collaborating with them?”

Elrond stood and leaned against a window frame, trying to give his tired eyes a new view, but even then he could see nothing but treetops and thick grey smoke rising from the encampments and smothering the horizon with a sooty haze.

“It is possible, but not very probable in my eyes. If he was working with them it would make no sense for the _Edain_ to kill him. Perhaps I am biased, for he had most likely assumed the high position of captain with no small deed, and I would rather like to think him to be a victim of this plot just as the rest of us.” The Noldo absently traced the edge of a tapestry hanging by the window and continued, “However, I do remember him mentioning that he had grown close to the _adan_ boy, and Ausocitin had used the child as leverage to draw Denisale into this in the first place. The questioning last night had gone well and the female _adan_, Evlani, I believe her name was, all but confessed she was working hand in hand with this mutiny. I merely needed a king’s seal to convict them both.”

Aldaner nodded and cast a wistful glance outside the south-facing window as well. “_Adan_ or not, he was just a mere boy. He should not have to see such cruelty. In his own mother no less. It saddens me.” She shook her head and fiddled with the end of the braid draped over her shoulder.

Elrond absently began braiding the tapestry’s golden tassel and sighed. “Indeed. At times, I look at our world, the people, and how some can simply not see that what they do is wrong, or do it anyways even if they know. It makes me wonder what happened to them to turn out so.”

Aldaner ducked her head over a smile. _Yes, he is the right choice of a leader to bring us out of this. _

The Noldo huffed out an empty laugh and continued braiding. “I never thought I would say this but I truly wish Thranduil was here.”

Aldaner returned the mirth. “He does have a way of getting out of the strangest things. He almost reminds me of your twins. I do not think he ever truly grew up,” she said with a wry smile, she had all but raised the little prince along with her Feren.

Elrond switched the group of the half-plaited strands of the tassel to one hand and withdrew a crumpled note from his pocket. “‘_We have a plan. Do not look for us. Please forgive the mess. Elladan and Elrohir._’” Elrond laughed after reading the note aloud. “I am inclined to believe you,” he said with a smile that tried to hide the pain brought to the forefront at the mention of two of his missing sons. He found himself staring at the note and quickly shoved it back in his pocket;

Too quickly to realize he had used the hand still clutching the tapestry’s braided tassel. A small yelp escaped Aldaner’s throat and she jumped out of the way just as the tapestry came crashing down on top of the Lord of Imladris with a billow of dust, knocking him clear off his feet.

She fumbled to help him up from under the heavy weave and couldn’t help the laugh that burst from her lips at the site of his normally sleek and pinned hair in an outrageous disarray as it clung to the ornamental rug. At first he looked too shocked to articulate and then burst into a true, clear laugh. He rose from the floor and straightened out his robes.

“I am suddenly glad that Thranduil was not here for this moment,” he said wryly, voice stretched with his pretentious smile.

Aldaner chuckled. “Or alternately,” she said, “he would have been the one to get swept off his feet like a fish in a net.”

Elrond shook his head in mock-seriousness. “What I would give to see that—“

The mirth fell from his face as he broke off and all turned to seriousness.

“M’ lord...? Oh!”

Elrond walked stiffly over to the wall and crouched down to look at the large gaping hole that had been hidden by the tapestry and the large cloud of dust its downfall had initiated.

“Do you know anything of this?”

Aldaner looked just as surprised as he did. “No, no I do not think I have ever heard of such a thing!”

“Oh! Oh _Valar_!” Elrond said, his hand shooting up to massage his temple.

“Elrond if you do not tell me what is going on in that silly little head of your this instant I will—“

“Legolas!”

“What—“

“Legolas was ambushed in the dungeons by the rogue general. Me and my sons were the first ones down there and he had disappeared...”

“Through a tunnel such as this,” Aldaner finished, understanding dawning on her countenance.

Elrond peered through the hole again. “Who do you think knows of these?”

“You can try asking Tauriel... oh! And Nestael. General Haldaner’s wife,” she amended.

“Right.”

oOo

“There is indeed a network of tunnels all throughout these walls,” said Tauriel, nodding in acknowledgement to a thin elleth who entered the room. Her eyes were red as if she had recently been crying and her cheeks were pale and hollowed.

Elrond cut off his response with returning the elleth’s curtesy with a nod and a half-smile, but his eyes were quickly clouded with concern.

Aldaner rushed over to her side altogether. “Ai, dear! Whatever has happened to you?!”

The elleth smiled sheepishly, if not uncomfortably. “A mix of things I suppose,” she began softly. “There has been no trace of my husband for a while now, and Captain Denisale had been a good friend of our family; we often supped together, and he was a good _ellon_. I always wondered why he never did marry.”

Aldaner squeezed Nestael’s shoulder’s in a reassuring, motherly way.

“But that is not all,” Elrond prodded slowly, his intuition observing the elleth’s face.

Nestael bit her lip as if in attempt to stop any pending tears and took a shuddering breath accompanied by a shaky smile. Her voice wobbled as she spoke. “My son ‘Gili—I mean Helgilion—has been missing since the day my husband left.” She paused to regain her composure. “And now my daughter is missing.”

Aldaner guided her onto a bed and Tauriel looked guiltily down at her hands. _My mistakes have caused much pain..._

Elrond lowered himself onto the edge of a bed and buried his face in his hands. “None of this makes any sense,” he groaned.

Just then, Dorthion entered the room with a a respectful bow towards Elrond, who thought he saw Tauriel perk up the slightest bit at the ellon’s presence. He lowered himself next to Tauriel and took her hand in his own.

“Pardon my tardiness. Is anything amiss here?” Dorthion asked in careful concern.

“Our next step is a difficult one to find,” said Nestael solemnly.

Dorthion rubbed his chin. “Well I inquired with the soldiers patrolling any possible exits and they have seen no sign of the two Edain, which must mean they are still in here somewhere.”

Elrond bit his cheek and lifted his head. “Any developments on the missing persons? I have a hunch your daughter is being kept with them, Nestael.”

She turned glistening, hopeful eyes to him. “I only pray she is alright. She is yet young, though she is my oldest.”

Aldaner offered another comforting squeeze to her shoulder.

Dorthion shook his head sadly in response to Elrond’s inquiry.

Tauriel studied the floor in contemplation. “Dorthion, do you know of the network of tunnels within these walls?”

Dorthion looked sharply at her. “I do. As I said, any possible exits are being guarded, so I do not think the Edain would have been able to escape had they wanted to. They are still inside the stronghold, I can say that for certain.”

“Elrond, earlier you mentioned that they are guilty of willingly collaborating with the mutiny. The boy was one of the few successful infiltrators and most likely used the tunnels to poison Elrohir,” said Aldaner, “could they have something to do with the missing party? We already know they are being used to keep all the other officials away from taking leadership.”

“Perhaps,” Dorthion intervened. “But I believe the key question here is motivation. Why are the _Edain_ involved in the first place?”

“Wealth,” Elrond said automatically. “Just like the rest of the Edain mercenaries.” He gestured widely around them, indicating the siege line.

Dorthion nodded energetically. They were finally getting somewhere. “And where is the majority of the wealth inside the stronghold located...?”

“The treasury,” Tauriel and Aldaner said simultaneously.

“Well then,” said Elrond with a growing smile as he rose to his feet. “We have work to do.”

oOo

“Inside?” Daesíl, a Silvan soldier renowned for his stealth, asked in puzzlement. “The treasury would be very difficult to guard from the inside, _hir nin._ Many things obscure one’s path of sight and there is no view to outside of the room lest these _Edain_ try to enter, as you said.”

“But that is the point,” Elrond said with a touch of impatience, “we want the _Edain_ to break in.”

Daesíl kneaded his brows. He was utterly lost. _Who ever thought of putting a Noldo in charge...?_ “I am afraid I do not follow you, Lord Elrond.”

“What he means is he wants the _Edain_ to break in so that you may follow them and perhaps they may lead you to where the missing persons are being kept,” Aldaner amended.

Daesíl nodded and chewed his cheek. “What then?”

“Then we catch the _Edain_,” Elrond finished.

“And if they make off with any gold...”

“We will collect it after we catch them,” said Elrond.

“Ah. So you want me to let them go to catch them again?” Daesíl said slowly and disbelievingly as if telling Elrond ‘_listen to yourself and see if it makes sense_’.

“Precisely.”

“Will do, Lord Elrond,” said Daesíl with a concerned purse to his lips. He gave a polite bow and turned to fulfill his duty. “Noldor _are_ strange,” he muttered to himself.

Elrond, of course, was near enough to hear the side comment. “Not as strange as the very elves who would rather run in the boughs than on the ground,” he muttered in return.

He and Aldaner exchanged glances then burst into laughter.

oOo

_The night was dark and dreary. Nothing but the utterly flat, rocky expanse was before him. Great spires—heads wreathed in cloud and piercing the drab grey sky twirled in the distance, mere black looming shadows against the horizon._

_A great sound of grinding and shifting stones rang through the threshold, so that only then did Elrond notice the silence that had previously created the oppressing atmosphere. _

_Rock rose before him right out of the ground, boulders parting and rolling from the large bulk that was awakening with a wake of rumbles. The rumbling and roaring did not cease once the precipice had risen up. A blinding flash licked the great spires in the distance and set the orbiting clouds afire. _Ah. Thunder and lightning then.

_The stone began to crumble beneath his feet. Heart leaping into his throat, Elrond ran as an invisible something ate the ground from under his flying heels. But then it stopped. Lighting flashed again, cold and sharp so that it blinded him. _

_His breath was rapid and pulse erratic. His exhales misted into wisps of mist before being whisked away by the urgent wind concealing the brewing storm._

_Crates were piled high in a haphazard stack, the boom of the thunder shaking them. The sound they made was strange; like the high-pitching clinking of glass._

_Two figures erupted into his line of vision, black cloaked silhouettes spinning and leaping with blades ringing together in a lethal dance. Lighting flashed again and thunder roared so near that it shook the very mountain to the core. _

_Elrond could only watch, entranced, as the two figures twirled and struck, ever nearing the stack of crates. _

_One of the figures was relentless, hitting his blade upon the other with such ferocity his anger was made plain through his movements, no longer the liquid dance they had once been, but the vicious attack of a starved wolf. The victim cowered and inched back. The leader made an underhand twist and caught the victim’s hand. They both lost balance and crushed backwards into the stack of crates behind and everything erupted into a flash of light. _

_The impact of the blast sent Elrond sprawling to the ground, unnatural waves of power crashing over him and beating him into the rock, driving all the breath out of him. Once the pulses lessened he raised his head and blinked against the red haze of fire that leaped up before him. _

_His heart dropped with the sickening realization of it. It was the stronghold. The stronghold was burning—_

oOo

Someone was shaking his shoulder. He sat up with a gasp and a wild glaze to his eyes.

“Elrond!” Aldaner. “Elrond come quickly, they caught the _Edain_! You must come quickly!”

Taking a deep breath and wiping the perspiration with the back of a shaky hand, Elrond swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was still wearing his clothes from the previous day. But by the look of it, it was the middle of the night; so perhaps still the same day.

It seemed it was then that Aldaner noticed his condition amidst the excitement.

“Elrond! What happened, are you alright?”

He took another wobbling breath to steady the rapid pounding reverberating in his chest. He was thoroughly disturbed. He was very shaken and drained and his súlë itself felt slumped in his chest. That could only mean one thing, and that is why it disturbed him so. He had just had a flash of foresight. _The stronghold was burning; we must flee!_

First he must deal with the matter at hand.

He had been about to request a draught of _miruvor_, but then promptly dismissed it; he did not want to cause worry. Not just yet anyways.

“I have an urgent matter at hand. We must take action immediately.”

Aldaner did not seem to gather the full impact of his words. She practically pulled him to his feet by his arm and dragged him out the door. She tapped her foot impatiently as he slipped on his boots and followed her on legs that felt to be made of a pile of jelly. He actually had to brace himself against the walls a few times during their translation. This flash of foresight must be extremely urgent. _It is not the first one I had of the stronghold burning,_ he thought, recalling the dream he had when trekking through the forest with Galion and his sons upon their arrival. He willed himself to pick up his pace.

It seemed like ages passed before they had finally arrived at their destination; the treasury.

A gathering of soldiers stood about the hall bearing the entrance to the stone vault. Evlani and Gilgan were being effectively restrained by a set of warriors and two plump feed sacks were sitting against the wall. His ruse had worked then, it seemed.

What truly drew his attention though, was an entirely different group of elves loitering uncertainly apart from the soldiers. More elves were rushing into the hall with each passing minute and the ringing of urgent footsteps signified the coming of many more. Nestael kneeled on the ground, holding a sobbing elfling with a lively head of auburn curls as if she was a lifeline.

They had found the missing elves, then. He smiled despite the weariness that shook him and hung on his eyelids.

Dorthion approached him, revealing a wide grin after giving the customary polite bow.

“It worked, _hir nin_! The missing elves were being held in a wider crevice within the hidden tunnels, just as you suspected. Quite clever on their part,” he tossed his head in the direction of the two scowling _Edain_, “though I fail to believe how they made off with abducting several full-grown _ellyth_.”

Elrond continued to watch as the elves streaming in searched the small crowd and threw themselves into a loved one’s embrace, whether it was elleth and child or husband.

“Well they did disappear a the day before Thranduil left, so I assume this was the doing of General Gindorelle.”

Dorthion nodded warily, now enlightened, though his previous joy turned a bit hard and his tone terse. “It’s _**Aran**_ Thranduil, Lord Elrond. I mean no disrespect but do not think yourself king in his absence.”

Elrond lowered his head. That remark was very... Silvan, yet it inspired him.

“My mistake, _goheno nin_.”

Dorthion gave him a curt nod.

“Shall I give the order to take the _Edain_ to the dungeons, _hir nin_?”

“No. I wish to talk to them.”

Dorthion beckoned the soldiers holding Evlani and Gilgan over.

Elrond scrutinized them up and down in an unsettling manner and Evlani’s scowl deepened considerably.

The Noldo finally spoke. “You have have many charges hanging over your head. Yet your latest is the murder of one of our own kinsman. That is not a deed that will lightly be looked over, but I see that you are aware of this.”

Gilgan ducked his head and looked uncertainly to his mother, who’s hard features had softened.

Elrond continued. “King Thranduil is not present, and therefore cannot be the judge of the situation. I am no king, but I have been put into the confidence of the elves of Greenwood and say that what you did was no small crime. However, the Eldar are not cruel, and providing the circumstance, I shall have to amend your sentence.”

Evlani shot Gilgan a venomous glare that said ‘_I told you so_’. The elves remained stone-faced.

“You are free to go.” At this the area quieted and the Edain snapped their heads up to inspect Elrond’s face to decide if he was truly serious. “You are proclaimed exiled and may never again enter the woodland realm under pain of death. Go, now, and be warned. Daesíl, I ask you escort the guilty to the gate and be sure they do not turn back.”

The elves stared at him in bewilderment, but he gazed back at them serenely to show that he was truly serious. Daesíl shook his head and was first to break the hesitation and turn to carry out the sentence.

Dorthion stared after the retreating escort with rumpled brows. “Why did you do that?”

Elrond was already beyond weary. His hands had not ceased shaking and he ambled absently over to the nearest south-facing window to brace against it.

“You know that of my gift, correct?”

“Pardon, _hir nin_, I do not.”

“I have the gift of foresight and occasionally—“

The sight that met him at the window nearly had his knees giving out from his beneath him.

“Lord Elrond what—?!”

The customary line of flickering firelight in the distance was now a large, black smoky haze. The siege line. The siege line was broken.

Valar knows what on _Arda_ caused—

“Oh,” Dorthion breathed, coming to stand at the Noldo’s elbow at the window.

Elrond didn’t know what to think, nor did he have the time to do so. All he knew is they all had to leave. Now.

The Silvans would not want to, he knew. He needed someone to back him up. Yet as far as he knew, everyone thought him a bit crazy. Hopefully the fact that his absurd idea for catching the _Edain_ had proved successful would spur them to follow him with all urgency.

He doubted it would.

“I want everyone to gather their belongings and be at the gate before the first light of dawn! Prepare to leave immediately.”

Nestael rushed over to his side with anxious steps, lithe fingers still clinging to her daughter. “Lord Elrond! What is the meaning of this?! Why must we go?!”

“The siege line is broken and we must move before it is once again reassembled. I have already had two visions of the burning of the stronghold, and that cannot be taken lightly. We must—_oof!_” He had taken a step forward but his strength had failed him. He collapsed to his knees and clung to Dorthion’s outstretched arm for support. He looked up pleadingly to the elleth. If he could not convince everyone to leave... he did not want to think of it. He must succeed. “_Saes_... we cannot let the people burn.” _Elladan and Elrohir are out there... all alone..._

Nestael looked to Aldaner, in conflict. The sight of the collected Noldo Lord kneeling and grasping Dorthion’s arm with shaking limbs, serene grey eyes swimming with such anguish...

“You _must_ believe me; get everyone out.”

Aldaner grasped Nestael’s shoulder in resolve. They could be walking into certain demise but she couldn’t help but fiercely believe Elrond knew something they didn’t. Perhaps he had been sent here for this very reason. He had gotten them through this much, and it was time to lend him a bit of trust.

Nestael turned to face her. “We go.”

oOo

The siege line had indeed been broken.

The mass breached a grassy knoll overlooking the stout, towering shadow of the stronghold. Edain skittered below, cowed by the sight of such a large party steadily approaching, as if to end them once and for all. A vast majority of them fled, deeming any promised payment too small a reward for possible death. Then any remuneration would be worthless.

Elrond could almost jump up and shout for joy. They were breaking free. At last.

He look uncertain steps to the crest of the knoll, surveying the bramble and ferns that crowned it like a flowery wreath upon an elleth’s brow.

His foot hit something. He reached down to retrieve it. A sword lay in trembling palms. Not just any sword; his son’s sword. He bent down and studied the area where he had found the sword. The grass was definitely flattened as if someone had lain there for a stretched period of time. He lifted his head, Dorthion sidling up to him.

“Lost something, Lord Elrond?” he asked with a hint of playfulness.

“My sons,” he murmured. “They were here, and not too long ago...” His eyes alighted on a gap in the bramble thicket. Dorthion caught on and moved it aside.

Elrond gasped and nearly toppled over backward as a large bulk barreled into his chest. The sweetest voice he could ever wish to hear was smothered in his hair.

“_Ada_! Oh ada I’m so relieved that you came I didn’t know what to do and—“

Elrond elatedly returned the embrace and laughed at the cross “_EL!_” that called out from the bush. Dorthion smiled and turned away to join hands with Tauriel, giving the reunited family some space.

Elrohir broke away with the widest possible smile and crawled back into their little hideout to help Elladan emerge from the tight, prickly space. He looked around for the first time.

“Did you evacuate the stronghold _ada_?” Elladan asked.

Elrond nodded and stayed where he was, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. Elrohir suddenly dropped Elladan with a grunted protest and took his _adar’s_ hand in his own. It was still shaking rather violently.

“You had another vision?”

Elrond nodded but then paused to study the makeshift bandage swathed around Elladan’s thigh in sudden concern.

Elladan caught his eye and smiled almost sheepishly. “Don’t worry _ada_, it wasn’t poisoned.”

Elrond shook his head with a pained, exasperated smile and enveloped the older twin in his arms.

He suddenly pushed Elladan back by his shoulders and gave them both a sharp look.

“I forbid you two to ever make an exit like that again,” he bit out in a very stern voice so that both twins immediately sobered. “You scared me half to death you two, oh—” He hooked each twin in his arm and pulled them up to him. “You two are _insufferable_, you know that?”

The twins laughed, relishing in the comfort of being in familiar arms again.

“I’m not _nearly_ as insufferable as Elrohir,” Elladan said matter-of-factly. “He’s the one who forced a sleeping draught down my throat and then told me to read a _book_.”

Elrohir looked affronted and straightened into a sitting position. “_I’m_ insufferable? If it wasn’t for me you would still be back there, used as some trophy for mortal children to look upon with an arrowhead in your leg!”

Elrond was interested at this point.

“I wouldn’t of even had an arrowhead in my leg if I hadn’t followed _you_ and your _fool_ ideas!”

“Well if you think they’re foolish, why did you follow me in the first place? Look who’s foolish now!”

“Only a _lunatic_ would think of riding a dragon.”

“A what—“ Elrond was now alarmed.

“_Yeah? _Well that dragon saved your skinny neck so you just—“

“You’ll what? I know better than any _Edain_, Elrohir, I know you can’t eat my soul or—“

“Just what did you two do?” Elrond asked guardedly.

The twins exchanged wry looks, the argument gone and forgotten in an instant in favor of giving Elrond the scare of his life.

“Well you see _ada_, there was this dragon—“ Elrohir began but then abruptly cut off, his mischievous smile vanishing and his head whipping from one direction to the other, eyes wide.

Elladan gasped as murmurs began to ripple through the crowd.

Two parties of unknown identity were coming towards them. From wiry to stout figures, all were but shadows against the darkness of the early dawn.

One from the southwest and one from the northeast—

“Oh _no_,” Elrond whispered, his veins running cold.

They were trapped between them.

oOoOoOo


	37. Hammer and Anvil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character refresh (even I lose track of them all! XD)
> 
> Galion—secretary/butler
> 
> Feren—captain of the Royal Guard
> 
> Haldaner—General and father to Helgilion (elfling)
> 
> Nestael— Haldaner’s wife
> 
> Filendis— Royal master healer and father to Estella and Fararth (elflings)
> 
> Helmeren— Filendis’ wife
> 
> Dorthion— an ellon soldier with, erm, a soft spot for Tauriel :P
> 
> Alagbara— influential elleth of a settlement demolished by Ausocitin
> 
> Nimmîr— an ellon from Alagbara’s settlement who is supportive of Thranduil
> 
> Minaitir— orphaned elfling, son of the late treacherous general, Gindorelle
> 
> Aldaner— master healer Filendis’ assistant and Feren’s mother
> 
> Denisale— the late reconciliatory captain who had become treacherous under the influence of Greenwood’s Darkened Ring. He was murdered by two captured Edain

Galion massaged his brow and Feren blew air out of his cheeks. Legolas was perched on the edge of the cot beside them, arms still raised in expectancy from his... speech. Prodding speech perhaps it should be called; the source of the elder two ellyn’s headaches.

Estel stood by his friend, nodding fervently to punctuate each statement. Of course, he was deemed too young to have much say, but he sure could be a fiery little thing when he wanted. A fact solely blamed on his Noldorin upbringing.

General Haldaner and Master Healer Filendis were sprawled on barrels or crates of the sort the Edain had dragged in to accommodate them all. Helmeren, Filendis’ wife, had gone to town to make use of a kindly family’s kitchen and make up some bread.

“Well?” Legolas said, his voice a bit louder than it usually was from riling himself up so.

“Legolas _saes_,” Galion groaned.

“With all due respect, _ernil nin_, we cannot possibly ask these folk to come to a fight that is not theirs. It is folly,” Haldaner said in a pleading, almost apologetic tone. He did not yet fully understand the close relationship between the prince and Feren and Galion and nearly winced each time pleasantries were dropped. Legolas did not seen to notice, though.

“But we may not have to fight! We transport our party over to the siege line, Lord Elrond will see and bring out the remainder of the armed warriors out, and the _Edain_—seeing as they are going to be crushed between hammer and anvil— will flee! No more blood will be shed!” Legolas finally brought his arms down and rubbed at his side. He had given everyone quite a scare with that one. It was rather odd; spiders didn’t usually stick their whole stinger into the victim, but usually only enough to pump the venom through. They were getting more vicious.

“How can you be sure that the _Edain_ are going to flee so easily?” Feren asked almost heatedly. Barely pausing, he answered his own question with an exclamation. “That’s correct, _tithen_ _ernil_, you can’t!”

Legolas folded his arms crossly and sank down to the edge of the bed near Estel.

“They’re mercenaries. They came for the gold not the fight,” Legolas reasoned, “and don’t call me that.”

“Legolas, there are other places on the opposite side of the country that have compiled wealth such as this. And not all of them came just because they were payed to do so. They have their own reasons against Thranduil and they refuse to see anything else,” Galion said, not heeding Haldaner’s scrunched grimace at the drop of titles.

“But surely we must try _something_,” Estel intervened. “We cannot just let things continue on like this. We cannot leave my father in there to be scorned by a bunch of shifty-eyed Silvans, I mean—“

Estel quickly broke off, realizing from the glares that he was receiving that his jest was not being taken in good humor as it would with other... Noldor. In _Imladris_. Estel supposed it was fair, though. Silvans sneered at Noldor so why should he be left out of the great game just because he took the opposite side?

He gave everyone a wide, patronizing smile with just enough sheepishness to mask his triumph.

“You’re going to have to learn better than that if you do not wish to have another arrest warranted for you, dear _adan_,” Legolas jested wearily.

Estel lifted his chin and smiled wider. “It’s against my upbringing.”

Feren rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Just the Noldor thing to say.”

Hildor, one of the _Edain_ that had first helped take care of the young prince, chose that moment to enter the tent.

“How do we fair, my lords?” Hildor drawled with a lopsided grin. Strange as they were, he had come to enjoy the elves’ presence. Even if the healer one kept giving him nasty glares when Hildor found himself staring at his elven wife. It wasn’t his fault, though. Pretty thing she was, and she actually _glowed_ for heaven’s sake. Hard not to stare at the little looker when she shone like a beacon.

“I wish to request a counsel,” Leolas declared in the most authoritative voice he could muster.

Feren turned his eyes upward as if questioning the heavens. This little sprite had far too many of his father’s qualities than was canny. Galion shared his exasperation and gave Feren a glance that usually meant they would probably drain a wine bottle that night. Unfortunately, there was none of the glorious Dorwinion around and they feared they would have to drink the whole town dry to compensate.

“Legolas no—“

The fiery little thing turned steady eyes on the captain. _By the stars. He’s far too used to getting his way, the little spitfire._

“With all due respect, _Captain_, I remain your superior in this situation, and holding a counsel will not endanger me in any shape or form, meaning I have full authority here,” Legolas relayed with a spark in his eye that reminded the two so much of Thranduil. Wouldn’t the old man be proud to see his son take after him so.

Feren wanted to protest but knew that the prince was right. _Blast the day Oropher decided to be King!_

Hildor watched the exchange in bemusement. It was great fun watching the sharp eyed, elegant creatures ruffle their feathers at each other.

“Hildor, the counsel please,” Legolas said, completely ignoring the interesting shade of red his ‘_personal captain’s_’ face was turning.

“Of course, uh, her neen,” the _adan_ attempted with a low bow and jovial flash of his teeth. Hildor departed with a whoosh of air, leaving the tent’s inhabitants to their own devices.

“What do you wish a counsel for, _ernil nin_?” Haldaner asked quizzically.

A bright smile bloomed across the young ellon’s lips. “It’s time to negotiate.”

oOo

“Order please!”

The din the auditorium quieted at the request, yet whispers still floated from ear to ear with their own opinionated remarks. The young elven prince was not exactly popular with the folk in this area after thwarting them a pretty penny.

A _very_ pretty penny.

Feren lingered at Legolas’ flank as he stood on the pedestal, waiting for the bustle and murmurs to die down before... well actually Feren didn’t quite know _what_ the Sinda was doing; hence the scowl painted firmly on his face. He didn’t agree with... whatever the prince was doing, but wasn’t about to let himself wallow in his disagreement and let his charge be attacked by the mob, should it come to the worst.

He had already failed in his duty to protect the king, and wasn’t going to chance any further harm to the remaining member of the royal family...

The very thought of it hurt. He knew Thranduil had gone out of the stronghold by his own stubborn will, and had Feren not been Feren, he would have easily thrown the blame off his own shoulders and onto Thranduil’s. He knew he had every right to, and yet he did not.

He wished—

“I will keep this simple,” Legolas said, interrupting Feren’s muse. “We have come to negotiate; armed warriors for an established trade with the elven realm of Greenwood.”

Murmurs smeared the silence throughout the room, some approving, some wary. Feren exchanged a skeptical glance with Galion behind the prince’s back.

Narvi, a dwarven member of the counsel that had not been very pleased at Legolas’ claim of the wealth, made an inquiry, “What is the purpose of the need of these warriors...?”

Legolas turned his fervently shining eyes to Narvi. “Well you see; the Greenwood is in need of an ally...”

oOo

Haldaner and Filendis promptly stood upon the entrance of the other three ellyn. Estel quickly translated the broad smile on Legolas’ face to success.

Galion plopped down on the cot and blew air out of his cheeks.

“Well?” Filendis prompted.

“They agreed to come to our aid in exchange for regular trade with our realm,” said Feren, still looking rather lost in disbelief that the whole thing had worked in the end.

“What exactly does this town have to offer in terms of trade...?” Haldaner asked skeptically.

At this, Legolas smiled even wider and threw his arm around Estel’s shoulders jovially. “Leather, forged armor, raw steel...”

Filendis frowned and looked toward Galion, a question on his lips, “Do we have use for forged armor? That is only for battle on open ground, and we do not have much open ground to fight in to have use for such weighty protection.”

Galion shook his head and gave a half-shrug.

Legolas rolled his eyes upward as if pleading with the Valar. “I got us a sizable party, so I do not see what the problem is.”

“When do we move out?” Haldaner asked with the jerk of his head as someone burst through the flap of the tent.

“_Elbereth_! As soon as I heard, I came as swiftly as possible...!” Helmeren exclaimed in a rush of breath, searching the room.

“We dispatch within the hour,” Legolas said.

Everyone stood silently for a moment, trying to process the information.

“Well!” Helmeren said with a clap of her hands, “We best be getting on then!”

Estel grinned broadly and pat his friend on the back, who responded with a smile of his own. The pending reunion brought warmth to all their hearts.

oOo

Estel squinted through the trees for perhaps the millionth time that night and wished with all his heart that he had the sight of the Eldar. Even if he did, though, the trees were spaced far too closely together to see very far, making the large party’s trek through the wood a difficult one. He had to stifle a smile at the distant curses in Khazdûl that followed the harsh rattle of clanking armor. He would never understand dwarves and their silly tendency to carry as much metal with them as possible wherever they went.

He was practically bouncing in anticipation to see his _adar_ and brothers. However much he wished to deny it, he was getting rather homesick. He had enough adventures to last him a year!

...but only a year.

He gave Legolas a side glance; he had been quietly plodding along the familiar path, struggling to remain stoic. Estel knew that however cold he may think Thranduil, he was still Legolas’ father, and he could imagine that the _ellon_ was very eager to see him, or at least assure himself of his Lord’s safety.

Their relationship was a complicated one and Estel tried not to dwell on it too long. He immediately began planning what juicy details he could amend to the spider story to get back at the twins for making him believe that all spiders were the size of Ungoliant herself. He shook his head ruefully, a fond smile playing out on his lips.

“Is there something you find amusing, _adan_?”

Estel snapped out of his reverie and grinned up at the _ellon_, reaching out without a second thought and yanking one of his braids.

He snickered at the affronted look Legolas gave him and couldn’t help but laugh. “Now there is!”

His mirth immediately extinguished when the elf did not respond in kind or offer a return jibe. The Sinda bit his lip and studied the toe of his boots as he trudged on, a crease in his brow.

Estel—being used to the elves’ unusual mannerisms— drew an arm across the young elf’s shoulders. He had already guessed what what bothering his friend.

“Is it your _adar_?”

Legolas did not look up and his brow twisted further.

“I have not seen him since the incident at the camp where Jaseric—“

Estel let him gather his thoughts and waited patiently for him to continue.

“I—I do not even know who survived; if Tauriel is alright, how things are at the stronghold. What if my father never made it to safety, or if he was injured and the _Edain_ got their hands on him— Estel, how do I know that we are not walking into a trap!? Many things may have happened; what if the stronghold is already overrun, and what if everyone is already dead and—“

“_Valar_, Legolas, bite your tongue!” He paused and lowered his voice when the _ellon_ flinched and looked sharply at him with uncertainty. “We cannot know these things, like it or not. Sometimes all we can do is keep moving and hope for the best,” he said, finalizing the statement with a nod of his head.

Legolas relaxed a bit and absently reached out to touch the trunk of a tree, recoiling as his face contorted into a grimace. The shadowed trees were not exactly welcoming. He looked toward Estel and smiled at the pure sincerity shining in his eyes.

A laugh bubbled from the Sinda’s mouth.

“‘Is there something you find amusing, _edhel_?’” Estel mimicked, relief rushing through him at the sight of a grassy knoll up ahead.

“I’m afraid that was not entirely poetic, _mellon nin._ Perhaps you should leave those kind of, erm, reassurances up to your—_ai!_”

Estel laughed loudly at the scowl on Legolas’ face after jerking on his braid again. He was suddenly cut off as the Sinda barreled into him with his shoulder, sending him flying into a bramble thicket that nearly sent him careening off the hill.

The jesting immediately came to a stand-still at the flash of steel. Estel let out a yelp as the unmistakable prick of the edge of a blade was pressed to his throat.

In front of him, Legolas was wide-eyed and frozen, staring at him and his captor uncomprehendingly.

Heart pounding, Estel dared shift under the grip of his assailant and snuck a look at his face.

It took a moment to process just what was happening.

“Elladan!”

“_Estel_? _Valar_, you frightened me half to death!” The blade fell away and Estel spun to tackle his brothers into an embrace.

Feren promptly shook his head and relaxed, exchanging a relieved glance with Legolas and sheathing his sword. He had shot over to his charge’s side at the slightest sound of distress.

“_Hail_! Tis _friend_ not foe! _Hail_!” Elrohir called gleefully. Elves emerged from the undergrowth and dropped out of trees.

Estel was soon smothered in his father’s embrace as they laughed out of sheer relief.

Feren darted about, delivering instructions to their odd party of _Edain_ and _Naugrim_.

Galion shared a wry smile with Lord Elrond, who still clung to his youngest son, then went off into the crowd.

oOo

Nestael could hardly believe her eyes. Her pounding heart had dropped into her stomach as soon as she had caught a glimpse of him, unconsciously clutching her daughter’s hand tighter. Before she knew it, he had swept her off his feet and she suddenly felt safe.

General Haldaner bent to scoop his daughter into his arms and press a joyful kiss to her cheek. Nestael peered around him into the surge behind.

“Haldaner?”

“Yes, _meleth nin?_”

“Where’s ‘Gili?”

Haldaner’s eyes bulged. “I—I thought he was with you...”

Nestael buried her face into his chest as she was overcome with sobs.

The little _elleth_ in the general’s arms began softly stroking her _naneth’s_ hair as tears began to collect in her own eyes at the sight of her ada’s despairing face.

Filendis and Helmeren approached the distressed couple in their own search for their two little elflings.

“Your son?” Filendis asked

“Gone. We know nothing of his whereabouts.”

Helmeren’s face fell and even then she clasped the fellow _elleth’s_ shoulder.

“Wherever they are, let us hope they have found each other,” Helmeren said, more of a prayer sent upward than a comforting thought.

“Elbereth protect them,” Haldaner murmured.

oOo

Feren strode up to Lord Elrond once everyone was settled.

“You have evacuated the stronghold.” It was not a question. He had the smallest hint of scorn in his voice.

Elrond nodded stoically and Estel fidgeted uncomfortably at the sudden tension and slid off his lap to go banter with the twins.

“I had a vision. We were in danger there.”

Galion ambled over, still searching the crowd.

“Where is Thranduil?”

Elrond froze and Feren’s heart dropped.

The Noldo swallowed slowly as horror began to dawn on their faces. “He is not here. The last we saw of him was before he stormed out of the stronghold...”

Feren could take it no longer. Worry had taken hold of him and now that the possibility that the Sinda had made it to the stronghold was extinguished.

“_Valar, no,_” the captain whispered and buried his face into Galion’s shoulder. Galion’s countenance became drawn and he absently stroked Feren’s hair.

“Elrohir! _Tolo, saes._”

The young elf ambled over, a smile still on his face and mirth on his breath from reuniting with their clumsy little brother.

“Elrohir, when you and Elladan were in the human camps, did you hear anything of Thranduil? Did the _Edain_ speak of him?”

The young Noldo surveyed the sullen faces before him and understanding dawned on him and his mouth pursed in concern.

“I can assure you that nothing was said of the king while were there.”

Galion gave him a measured look that said ‘you have some explaining to do, _penneth_’.

“Eru save him.”

oOo

Legolas was lost in the crowd of rushing elves. He watched familiar faces fling each other into embraces, all smiling. Laughs rippled throughout the area and the sea of voices was heartening.

But not for him. A tight knot had weaved itself into the _ellon’s_ gut as he stood with tense giddiness. Half of him was eager to search through the crowd for his father, and the other half whispered a chorus of ‘what ifs’ in his mind.

So he stood, indecisive, in the middle fo the crowd. No one approached him. No one sent him a fleeting glance. Suddenly he felt very small and insignificant.

He eyed a nearby tree with branches stooped down low enough to prevent much strain to his side if he were to take shelter in it. The Sinda had been about to steel himself into curling up in its boughs and pretending he was invisible when Tauriel hesitantly approached him.

“Legolas? Legolas, is that you?”

The knot in his stomach tightened and he felt the sudden urge to flee from it all. He found not the energy to even fake a smile.

Tauriel stopped in front of him and gave him a soft smile before gently giving him a one-sided embrace. Her face reappeared, concerned.

Dorthion hung back, politely inclining his head at the prince. Legolas gave him a timid nod of acknowledgement in return, more out of habit than anything else. He found himself absently rubbing his side as he struggled for words.

“What is the matter, _mellon nin_?”

Legolas could not look up at her.

“He is not here?”

It came out as more of a question than anything else. Not a full truth, but not a complete lie either.

They both knew who he was talking about.

She wet her lips and studied his face, brow creased.

“No.”

He looked back up to the melee swarming around them; happy faces and joyful tears going around as if they were contagious. He rubbed at his side again.

“Talk to me, Legolas.”

He remained silent, head down, before fiercely embracing the _elleth_, unable to express the storm of emotions coursing through him at the moment.

Not a tear fell, but he felt better.

Dorthion wished he imagined the small twinge of jealously in his heart and balled his fist as the prince flung his arms around Tauriel, his eyes hollow.

She gave Dorthion a reassuring and very knowing smile over the Sinda’s shoulder and pulled away, striding over to the commander’s side without a word and a troubled look in her eye.

_He looks so lost..._

oOo

“_Ada! Ada_, the second party is closing in!” Elladan’s frantic voice rang out and the activity stopped at once.

“What—?!” Feren began, alarmed.

Elrond looked uncharacteristically anxious. “I may have failed to tell you of the armed party advancing from the west...”

Taking a deep breath, Feren plunged into the crowd, making his way to the top of the knoll without even a spare sentence.

“_Halt_! Who goes there? Are you friend or foe?” Feren called out in the most authoritative voice he could muster.

The slinking group of figures came to a simultaneous stop in obedience to his request. The lead stranger threw off... _her?_ cowl and stepped forward, a cascade of long brown silky waves falling down her back.

“A friend. We have come to the aid of our kin,” the _elleth’s_ strong voice rang out for all to hear. The elves behind her slithered out of the shadows and revealed themselves.

Galion could have hugged the _elleth_. Elrond nearly crumpled in relief.

A shriek erupted from the crowd, tiny flashes of color shooting into the arms of Helmeren and Filendis.

_“Ada nana!”_

“_Estella! Fararth_! Oh, Eru be praised!”

The children were promptly swept up into their parent’s arms, another joyous reunion.

Helgilion followed soon after and Nestael fell to her knees to hold her baby close. Helgilion flashed his sister a wide smile before burying his face in his _ada’s_ chest.

“‘Gili!”

“I’m alright, _nana_, I really am!”

“Don’t ever do that again, _penneth_. Ever.”

The two happy families were content to smother their children with love.

Estel watched them under lax eyelids, smiling contentedly like a purring cat as he leaned into Elrond’s side. Everyone was together. Except for Legolas...

Estel cast a glance around the sea of faces and found the familiar head of gold hanging sullenly at the back of the reunions, his eyes empty and grey. Estel pursed his lips in concern but turned back to the trees as the tail end of the new force of elves arrived.

An _ellon_ holding the hand of a chestnut-haired elfling filed inconspicuously out of the darkness. The elfling lifted his chin as if looking for someone. His eyes either skittered over the other elflings’ complete families, or avoided them altogether. He seemed uncomfortable with the general idea of family and even gave Estel—who was still bunched under his _adar’s_ arm— a queer look that appeared as something between grief and curiosity.

The elfling froze in his search, eyes singling out one person from the crowd. He let go of the _ellon’s_ hand and determinedly made his way to said targeted person.

His attention turned away from the elfling when the lead elleth approached them.

“Lord Elrond!” she stated with a streak of surprise, instantly recognizing him from the wisened grey eyes and the young human leaning into his side.

“Yes,” he said simply, turning his head to watch the little elfling.

Minaitir stopped in front of a willowy _ellon_ with wispy golden hair and striking blue eyes he would recognize anywhere. Thranduil’s son for sure. He looked almost... hollow, and it saddened Minaitir to see him so.

Minaitir looked up at the prince, who only blinked down at him in a puzzled manner. The Sinda was surely taken aback when the elfling flung his arms around his waist and kept his large brown eyes trained on his.

“Will you be my brother?”

Legolas froze and blanched, eyes wide as he looked up at Lord Elrond who gave the lead _elleth_ an alarmed glance, searching for an explanation.

Alagbara smiled thinly, though it was genuine. “King Thranduil has dropped into our settlement and explained the situation here,” she delivered a quirk if her mouth that could’ve been called a half-smile, “we decided to heed his words and came to aid.”

Galion closed his eyes and breathed out slowly.

“When? Where is he now? Is he injured?” Feren bubbled, not at all ashamed by his barrage of questions and the fact that they somewhat crumpled his composure.

Alagbara lifted her brows, mentally noting this observation; this was someone close to the king. 

“Not a week ago. He did not appear to be physically injured though he looked... drained. He arrived quite unexpectedly with four elflings hanging off his arms.” At this, her mouth quirked again as if remembering something amusing, but any smile looked misplaced on her brooding countenance.

“Where is he now?” Galion repeated.

“I do not know exactly. He headed north, following his troublemaking rogue advisor. I see that everything is settled here and would like to trail him immediately. Can a horse be spared?”

Feren lifted his brows at the mention of Ausocitin. So the sniveling coward had shown his face after all.

After explaining the situation of their settlement and how Ausocitin had been trying to ruin Thranduil’s reputation by demolishing it, was she informed that all the stress in the stronghold had been set loose. Shouldering her pack, she promptly set off for a horse and then to the king. Everyone was too stunned to offer going along, and before they knew it, she was gone.

A thought turned itself over in Elrond’s mind. Alagbara had mentioned that the Greenwood’s Ring has been Darkened. He could only remember the two clashing figures in his dream in relation to this.

Suddenly, the ground shook with an unseen force. Once, twice, and again, getting increasingly violent with each wave. Exclamations rippled through the throng and everyone crouched down low to avoid the ground being jerked out from under them.

A blast of thunder ripped through the sky, the horizon erupting into flame. Elrond whipped around, and sure enough, the stronghold was enveloped in fire. It surged and consumed and snapped the great oaken gates and walls of stone between its deathly tendrils.

Gasps flew around the crowd, Nestael coming to stand near Elrond, flanked by Healer Aldaner.

“The _Edain_,” Aldaner whispered.

“Pardon?” Elrond said.

“The _Edain_ you exiled for the murder of Denisale. Had they been kept in the dungeons, they would have burned.”

Admiring and appreciative smiles were cast his way and he couldn’t help but return them. He was becoming more accepted.

Aldaner abruptly whirled on Feren and poked his chest.

“_You_! May the Valar punish you for not coming to greet your own mother! Come now, or I will see to it that you skip supper _and_ breakfast!”

Feren gave her a wry smile and fell into her arms as she enjoyed the feeling of her only son being close and out of harms way again.

The _ellon_ who had been leading Minaitir approached the group.

“_Hir nin, hiril nin_,” Nimmîr said in accompaniment to a pair of polite bows. “I am at a loss of what to tell the others; what shall be put next move?” He cast a disturbed glance to the burning stronghold.

Elrond smiled and turned to the milking throng.

“The siege has been broken!” he proclaimed. The newcomers exchanged sighs of consolation. “We stand now together to finish this!”

Galion yanked on the Noldo’s shoulder. “What are you doing?” he hissed. He was not angry, merely confused.

“Finalizing our victory!”

Feren had caught on.

“Yes! We will purge this land of traitors! _Together_!” he yelled with a broad smile. It was moments like this that made being a warrior all the worthwhile for him.

“_TOGETHER_!” the assembly roared.

They charged down the hill, shouting in victory and driving out any _Edain_ who had not already fled when met with such a large amount of resistance.

They were free, but their home was destroyed. Their path was set to the East, where their other stronghold lay. They only needed their king.

oOoOoOo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider that this is where all those Mirkwood elves got their steel armor from in BOFA xD.
> 
> Edhel... elf
> 
> Tolo...come
> 
> Revision is half-ways done!!! :3


	38. At What Cost?

Tauriel laughed as she pranced over to Dorthion’s side, breaths coming fast. Exhilaration wound through her like a cool, refreshing wave.

There was something about watching the _Edain_ flee before their face and out of the forest that brought such a feeling of accomplishment to her. She, as captain, had not failed.

She, despite the circumstances and the heavy loss of Jaseric that weighed upon her heart, had come out on top. With a little help of course...

Tauriel looked to Dorthion and he gave her a wide smile. The spring green of his eyes seemed to shine brighter when he was joyous and she would remember him such always.

The _elleth_ returned the bright smile and they discreetly intertwined their fingers as a call from Feren rang out for them to gather and listen in on the newest developments.

They ignored the summons for the time being.

Though it seemed perhaps rather sudden, Tauriel was very much attracted to this _ellon_. He had helped her through her darkest times, carrying her out of memories as she clung to the lifeless body of Jaseric. Staying at her bedside and letting her cry on his shoulder when she was spurned by all others.

_Traitor_, they had hissed. _Murderer. _

Those things she knew she was not. Dorthion had been there to lift her above the drowning waters of her grief, be her crutch so that she would not flounder aimlessly in the waves before they finally devoured her. Yes, he had done that, but it had been her that had fought through the darkness of her mind.

With her head above the thrashing waters, she had the spare second to take a gulp of air and see from a new perspective.

She had yet to thank him for that.

“Dorthion?” she ventured lightly.

He perked up and turned towards her, eyes bright like an unblemished elfling.

“Yes?”

“I—I want to thank you.”

His brows raised in pleasant surprise.

“Whatever for?”

She hesitated slightly before answering, “For everything,” she said, her tone light, accompanied with a genuine smile.

His countenance practically shone. It was obvious that he had been quite smitten with her since before the whole ordeal and his patience had been rewarded.

Dorthion brought up her hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles.

“_Hiril_ _nin_,” he said with a bow.

They ambled over to the gathering, hand-in-hand and hearts buoyant.

oOo

“_Dín, saes!”_ Feren shouted over the buzz of voices.

It quieted immediately.

“I would first like to congratulate our victory! The valiance of every one of you has brought us forward and the whole of Greenwood has to thank you all for that.”

A ring of shouts ricochet amongst the trees. They died out as Feren solemned.

“That victory, however has come with a cost. We know not the odd phenomenon that has reduced our stronghold to ruins, but we cannot linger here, houseless,” his voice carried well and without strain after centuries of being accustomed to addressing large throngs.

“There is an outlet, I believe. The stronghold in the East still stands in the heart of the rock and I believe that now is the time to take up residence there as we have naught else to go.”

Murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd, elves turning to one another and whispering affirmatives or speculations. The rabble of _Edain_ and _Naugrim_ from the small trade town had started back East hours ago as they were no longer needed.

“What say you?”

A great cry rose up and Feren and Galion exchanged pleased glances with Elrond and the young human tucked under his arm.

“_Onward_!”

The crowd edged forward. Feren has been about to bring up the lead when a hand in his sleeve brought him to a halt. He turned to meet the eyes of his mother, healer Aldaner.

He gave her a warm smile, though his eyes were clouded with much weariness. She could tell that stress and guilt was weighing heavily down on him.

“_Naneth_.”

She smiled fondly at him and cupped his cheek, playfully tugging at the unbound hair at his ears. She pulled him into an embrace and rested her chin on his shoulder to have better access to his ear.

“I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you, _ion_ _nin_,” she whispered.

His arms encircled her in turn and he buried his face in her neck. He hoped she imagined the small tremors coursing through him.

“_Naneth_, of what? I have done naught but speak a smattering of words in hopes I appear to be fulfilling my duties. Oh, I do not know what to do; I could not save Thranduil, I could not keep Legolas from endangering his life once again— I do not see what there is to be proud of.”

He sniffed and unobtrusively passed a hand over his eyes.

Aldaner stiffened and drew him back by his shoulders.

“Now _you_ listen _here_, _penneth_. I do not want to hear such _nonsense_ spilling from your mouth ever again! I am proud of you because you are my _son_ and nothing more! You do not have to earn my love, _or_ Thranduil’s. He is still out there somewhere and if I know anything of him, he will be waiting for us back at the new stronghold after breaking into the wine stores that are undoubtedly there, with his feet kicked up as he drinks his fill.”

Feren smiled at the image. “I suppose you are right...”

Aldaner raised her brows and released his shoulders. “I am your _mother_, _penneth_. I am _always_ right when it concerns you.”

She gave him a smug nod and winked, turning on her heel to follow the procession with Feren trailing and shaking his head fondly.

He hoped with all his heart what she said would be true.

oOo

Legolas curled into the embrace of a tree, eyes vacant and rubbing his side. He was glad for the respite in their journey, for he was weary beyond measure.

They had found no sign of the king besides what the _elleth_, Alagbara had revealed. He hoped she succeeded in finding him.

The anxiousness was miserable.

A small hand appeared on the branch in front of him. Then another. Dark brown, youthful eyes peered over the drained _ellon_ nestled in the boughs.

Legolas found the interruption a bit irritating and could only watch limply in consternation as the elfling proceeded to climb into his lap and curl himself against the _ellon’s_ chest without permission.

The Sinda stiffly stared at the small being who was not quite oblivious to his discomfort. They were brothers, after all.

Minaitir cocked his head to the side, disconcertingly looking Legolas in the eye.

“Why do you not like me?”

Legolas sighed. “I _do_ like you, I had just been hoping for a few spare moments alone.”

Minaitir nodded as he processed the information.

“Oh. I thought you didn’ like me ‘cause you wanted to have Thran all to yourself!”

The Sinda scowled at this. This elfling was getting increasingly irritating. That was a sore subject and he wanted naught to do with it.

Minaitir settled his back against Legolas’ chest when no response came from the older _ellon_.

“Do you still feel sad sometimes, ‘bout your _nana_?”

Legolas stiffened until he rivaled a board. “Perhaps,” he ground out.

“Oh. Well I do. Sometimes I remember her and feel happy, though. I do not remember her all that much because I was very young when she died but she made the _best_ sweet cakes on this side of the Anduin always gave me hugs,” Minaitir, snuggling his face into Legolas’ chest at the reminisce.

“But I suppose you have your _ada_ still. He is very kind.”

Call it childish, but Legolas was jealous. Plain and simple.

He was jealous of this charming child that gained acceptance with a mere smile, who viewed life in such a carefree manner, who was unperturbed by his rejection, who spoke of subjects Legolas had kept buried deep as if it was discussing the weather, and most of all that this stranger held something special with his _adar_.

“Indeed.” A long, uncomfortable pause. Legolas pushed the elfling off his lap as he scooted down the branch. “I will see to the water supply; excuse me.”

Minaitir watched sullenly from above as the Sinda slipped from the tree and strode away. He had the feeling his brother did not like him very much.

He curled in on himself; the hole in his chest seemed just a bit bigger now.

And Minaitir cried, his hand unconsciously curling around the hilt of Thranduil’s knife.

He cried for what he lost, what he didn’t have, and that it hurt inside. But he cried most of all for that which he _did_ have did not want him.

oOo

Trees smeared by at the edges of Thranduil’s vision. The silence of the night was cut by the crashing of speeding hooves through the underbrush and the labored pants of the horse.

The Sinda crouched father down the horse’s withers, urging her to give him a last burst of speed. The mare huffed and tossed her head, lengthening her stride. Thranduil grieved not finding out the horse’s name before he left and offered a pat to her neck as she sped on.

He could tell she was uneasy with this area and was reluctant to plunge in as they were now. The whites of her eyes nearly glowed through the gloom of the forest.

That was another thing.

The trees here seemed much more solemn and withdrawn than what was usual. The Song of Arda was not exactly a physical sound, but more of a feeling, like the sensation when a strong scent such as wine wafted through the air so that one could almost taste it. So it was now; the trees hummed (though moaned seemed a bit more of a proper choice of word, considering the ominous energy that seemed to clog the very air) a low, throaty noise that rattled through one’s bones and caused them a wary sense of discomfort.

The trees were much more sparse in this area, allowing horse and rider to lead a somewhat straighter path after their quarry. The pending scent of rain hung in the air, making it feel heavier.

Ausocitin had a head start, but Thranduil’s horse was surely the superior so they had often caught the flicking end of the other horse’s tail amidst the thinning brush.

“It won’t be much longer now,” the Sinda whispered in the horse’s ear as it rotated to him before flicking alertly back to their path.

It was true. Ausocitin had not attempted to veer them off his course which was blatantly set straight for the Mountains nested in the heart of the Greenwood. It was certainly suspicious, but Thranduil knew that he had to get the tainted Ring back by all costs. With it, the ellon was far too powerful, as a majority of the trees were Darkened, and the dark Ring allowed the bearer to have positive association with them. At least, it was positive for the bearer.

Means which to control the nightmarish trees could mean nothing good.

_There! _

Towering peaks edged into sight from between the gaps of gnarled trunks. Thranduil shifted his balance again, urging the mare into the final stretch of their mad chase.

He would succeed. He had to.

They erupted into the clearing, hooves bashing into the gravel. A shudder ran through the stout little mare. This area seemed to be the vortex of the malcontent buzzing through their racing hearts.

Thranduil spotted Ausocitin immediately and pushed the mare to give her last, promising respite after her long toil.

The little spitfire shot ahead, the foam flecking her shining coat sliding off her heated muscles she she pumped faster and faster, legs a blur and stirring the rocks underfoot into an uproar in her wake.

They were nose to flank. Nose to withers. Neck and neck.

The first rocky cliff grew ever nearer as the two figures galloped on. He could see Ausocitin’s flickering eyes flashing from here.

Thranduil inched ahead and made his move, jabbing the mare sharply in the ribs so that she pivoted into the path of the oncoming horse and rider, the gravel churning.

The ex-advisor’s eyes widened in shock he swerved his own steed to miss the mad _ellon_.

It was not early enough. The two horses nearly crashed into each other. Thranduil leapt off the mare’s back knocking Ausocitin clean off his mount.

The horses turned tail back to the forest the minute they were riderless with a startled neigh.

Ausocitin groaned lightly and scrunched his brow. The rock was hard and unrelenting beneath him and had done nothing particularly helpful to soften his fall.

The prick of a knife dug into his jugular and his eyes flew open with a gasp, blurring slightly before focusing on flaming blue chips of ice and a cascade of silver locks. The bewilderment that had previously glinted in his eyes was uncharacteristic with the malice that seemed to seep through his very breath.

The _ellyn_ panted and Thranduil pressed his knee over the ex-advisor’s sternum, making movement a painful ordeal.

Ausocitin discreetly reached his hand to his belt, curling something into his sleeve.

“Well?” Ausocitin said with a sneer on his tongue. Breaths still rushed in and out of his lips. “You have me now, don’t you?”

Thranduil did not respond and debated his predicament. His first priority was to take the Ring. From there, he could bind the ellon and begin the journey back to the stronghold. But there was something about this place that gave him a hunch... The feeling he got from these mountains; jagged cliffs and the daunting aura— it was strangely familiar, though he could not precisely place it...

“You have questions for me, I am sure, _tithen pen,” _Ausocitin said, shifting slightly and grimacing at the pressure on his chest and bite at his throat.

Thranduil indeed had questions.

“The vials. The exploding ones you used for to destroy the Nandor settlement; what are they?”

The _ellon_ smiled slyly. Or perhaps it was just a smile. Any expression looked sly on his face with those dark, dark eyes.

“Ah, yes. Clever little things are they not? It took a bit of tampering on my part, but it was delightful when my ministrations finally took effect. Dragon bones are mighty heavy, mind you.”

“But there are—“ Thranduil began but cut himself off immediately. Dragon bones. A corpse. The only possible slayed dragon was the one that he had killed, several centuries ago...

Ausocitin’s smile spread across his face as the gears turned in the king’s mind.

It all hit at once.

Dragon. It was in the Grey Mountains. The map in his father’s journal of that very place. The note that marked the hypothesized location of the Ring. Dragon bones... Dragons were evil. His father was right.

“Is that where you found the Ring, then?”

The look on the restrained _ellon’s_ face shifted into something akin to a tutor looking upon their student with enamor, though it was crazed and made Thranduil’s heart clench. He slowly exhaled; there was nothing to fear from this _ellon_.

Ausocitin adjusted his sleeve with a glint of emerald and silver flashing on his finger, pushing the object farther into his cuff. The trees were too far away now to be any help.

“Yes, yes I did. Thanks to Oropher’s little map, I will add. But of course, you knew that. It was a bit messy, getting it out of the Serpent’s ashes,” he added as almost an afterthought and a gleam in his swimming eyes.

Upon mention of the journal, Thranduil pressed the knife into the es-advisor’s skin, on the brink of drawing blood. “Give it to me.”

The _ellon_ looked comically surprised, brows raised and voice mocking. “What was that, _tithen pen?”_

Thranduil grit his teeth. “The journal. Give it to me.”

The dark eyes narrowed to mere slits, venom dancing on his lips as he wet them and pretended to ponder the request in an exaggerating manner.

“Hmm. What would you do if I said no?”

Thranduil spoke without thinking. “I‘ll kill you.”

His brows lifted and he watched the Sinda coolly, looking uncomfortably too composed for his current position.

“Will you now?” He asked in a silky voice

Thranduil said nothing and simply glared unflinchingly, hoping to gain the upper hand in this battle of wills.

A sinister smile lit the ellon’s face. “Then; _no_! No journal for you, _tithen pen.”_

Thranduil froze. He had called out the bluff. He could not kill this _ellon_. He had been sane once, before the greed for power took him and the job was set in stone by the tainted influence of the Ring. _Where did it all start, I wonder? How can one of such high stature fall so low?_

“What’s the matter _tithen pen?” _The smooth voice returned, slick as a snake slipping into a child’s cradle. “Too cowardly to take a life?”

Thranduil’s eyes hardened. An orc, no. A fellow kinsman, yes. Yet was Ausocitin still a kinsman? Or had he become an orc in elf’s clothing? Was there yet redemption to be seen somewhere down an arduous road? Or was his mind settled in a dark hole so that it had dragged his _súlë_ down with it?

“I see,” the _ellon_ said, intently watching the conflict play out on the Sinda’s face. “You hesitate to kill me because I am of the Eldar, such as you. And yet you did not give a second thought to the people of Dale and Erebor when they fell to thier fiery fate. Is your life truly worth that much more than theirs?” His voice lowered in volume.

“Now, Thranduil, tell me this, are not all living things sacred? What would you rather have had? Your life or everlasting strife between the peoples? You know what it feels like to burn. Think of all the children in the cities. The women; just as your queen. Had you needed to wage battle on Smaug to keep her alive, would you have done so?”

Thranduil’s eyes dimmed and he lowered his head, flinching with nearly every statement. _He’s trying to unseat you. Stay strong, do not sway—_

“Ahh. I see how it is. Now all your petty excuses of ‘_save my people_’ and ‘_Smaug cannot be defeated_’ are nothing but chaff in the wind. You have done it once before and succeeded with less than a quarter of what we had with all the peoples put together. I do not recall a hesitation from you to march out against the orders of your father and king or ‘_preserve the people_’ when you went to doddle around with the Serpent in the North.

“What would Oropher think of you now, hm?”

_Adar would have— he— _But Thranduil knew exactly what his father would have done. However rash and foolish it might have seemed; and that is not what Thranduil himself had done.

_Oropher was a good king; what does that make me?_

“You may know what it’s like to burn, Thranduil, but I saw what had been done to Esgaroth and Dale and the quiet settlement massacred from your meddling. Bleeding children stumbling about, homeless, alone. Weeping women with nothing left but ash to mourn over—

“That is when I told myself, no more. No more of this madness. A king who has done nothing to prevent this has no right to have a people. I would overthrow you and stop this.

“Those mercenaries out there, Thranduil, are not waging war and causing destruction out of nothing. However you may wish to think it not; _Edain_ too have value and courage and character. They had every right to come upon you and force you to your knees in suffering just as their loved ones suffered while you stood by and did _nothing_!”

Thunder rumbled in agitation as lightning flashed the clouds in the sky violet.

_Juststopjuststopjuststop, oh dear Valar he’s right—_

“Why do you hesitate now, _tithen pen?_ What’s one more city burned to you? What’s one more life taken?

“In the end, you see, you are just as much a kinslayer as the ancient Noldor princes bound to thier Oath. Yet you have no Oath, nor a curse of everlasting darkness, do you? All living things are kin; they all share the same world.

So, in the end, Thranduil, how much different are you than the thrice-cursed kinslayers of old? In the end, you are no different than the ones who killed your mother.”

Ausocitin narrowed his eyes and hissed, “_Who’s the villain now?”_

The words cut. Deep. His limbs trembled and his composure wavered nearly as much as his world was reeling right now.

Even then, looking into Ausocitin’s dark eyes clouded with the dark taint of the Ring, Thranduil could not convince himself that every word the _ellon_ had spoken was wrong.

Was he the villain, truly?

Thranduil studied the being before him, pressed into the gravel under his knee and knife. Those eyes were dark but they were not enslaved. He needed to get the Ring as far away from Ausocitin as possible. He was still an elf. He could come out of this.

“Give me the Ring, Ausocitin.” He hated the way his voice trembled.

The _ellon_ narrowed his eyes, scowling. “I would not bestow upon you the means of which you shall have more lives nestled in the palm of you hand, _lyg_!

“If you do not recall; this Ring was used to fortify the gates of the stronghold. Should you destroy it, so shall be the fate of the stronghold as well. I will not permit any more death!”

Thranduil’s hearth froze as ice seeped through his veins. He had forgotten. What was he supposed to do?!

Anger burned his face and he shot back with a heated retort.

“What then do you call your little maraud on the western Nandor settlement?! I saw the destruction there! You are no less of a murder than I am! You shot an _elleth_ at point-blank under the illusion it was me and for that I will never forgive you.

“What of the elves killed in the _Edain’s_ attack on the stronghold? What of the harm done to my commander! He was a mere orphan with no one left but his sister. It would be a miracle if she has not faded already!

“And what of my son and the harm inflicted upon him? Do you not think I see where this is going?! I have told you this once and I am telling you once again; an insufficient ruler I may be, but a _fool_ I never was!

“You seek to throw the blame on my shoulders and reconcile my death as you take up the king’s mantle, proclaiming to all my shortcomings.”

_Yes, shortcomings. I was never meant to be king from the very start. My rule has caused nothing but death and darkness in our home..._

More thunder. Another flash. The wind whipped their cloaks.

Ausocitin’s cheeks were flushed with furious heat.

“I was forced to demolish the settlement for the people to _see_! They need to waken from thier mindless trance and _see_ who you really are!”

“You acted as me under an enchantment! How can you call that honest prodding? Have you forgotten the deaths you caused when ‘awakening the people from thier trance’?

“Give me the Ring afore all else falls to ruin.”

Thranduil let the blade bite into the advisor’s throat, trying to grasp his wrist and wrench the Ring from him.

Ausocitin let the object hidden in his cuff fall into his palm as he brought up his arm and smashed it into Thranduil’s face.

Fire exploded in Thranduil’s eyes and he screamed, throwing himself backward to evade the agony burning through his skin to his very bones.

A milky white fog had erupted from the orb Ausocitin had burst to throw off his opponent. The ex-advisor had been ready, though, and covered his eyes and tried to backpedal and shield himself as much as he could from the powdery cloud of poison.

_Blast it! _It was the spiked fog bombs Denisale had planted during as sabotage during the Edain’s charge on the stronghold. It seemed an age ago.

Fumbling for his water skin, Thranduil had succeeded in pooping the cork off with his teeth, getting a minimal amount of the dust into his mouth as possible, and proceeding to spill the entire contents over his face.

The sting lessened dramatically and the Sinda wished the same relief could be brought to his lungs. His breath rasped painfully in his throat with every intake.

He had unsheathed his sword just in time to catch Ausocitin’s blade from splitting his head open.

A drop of rain splat on the tip of his nose.

They regained their bearings, Ausocitin forcing Thranduil back into a small valley in between the rocky spires of the Mountains to escape the cloud of white fire that lingered in the air.

They struck and parried and twirled and leapt about each other in a lethal dance, the sky rumbling its war-cry and lightning glinting off their dancing swords like the flicking tongue of a snake.

The ominous energy intensified. Another flash of lighting sliced through the murk of the night, revealing a small stack of unmistakable crates; more Dragon Dust; Ausocitin was storing extra up here.

It was ingenious, really. Push him into the explosive vials so that no body would be found for any with an opposing opinion to Ausocitin’s rule. It could look like an accident; they were alone.

Dead men cannot speak nor plead their case.

Thranduil needed that Ring. They needed to get away from here.

Ausocitin was fighting a losing battle. It did not look too down for him right now, but he was not skilled in the ways of battle, nor would he be able to outlast the Sinda in strength. It was only a matter of time until he was overpowered.

He climbed up a small slope that was a fallen piece of the precipice above to gain higher ground to gain at least a bit of an advantage. It wavered and shifted underneath him. He cast an anxious glance to the crates behind him.

But of course, Thranduil was a warrior and knew exactly what the scheme was. He jumped onto the rock beside Ausocitin, sword poised.

The rock shifted beneath his feet. His arms flailed to establish a semblance of balance.

Ausocitin took the chance of the small hesitation and struck downward with as much strength he could muster. Thranduil barely ducked under it, causing the force of the blow to sent the ex-advisor careening forwards.

The Sinda wrenched his wrist as they traded places, but was unable to unclench the _ellon’s_ fingers so as to slip the Ring off.

He growled in frustration.

Thunder ripped through the sky and he jerked suddenly, sweeping his foot out to topple his opponent.

Ausocitin fell backwards closer to the crates, banging his head on the stone as consciousness fled him.

The rock beneath them tipped dramatically under the sliding weight on an unseen fulcrum, sending the _ellon_ rolling limply for the crates.

Thranduil screamed and lunged but it was too late.

The vials erupted with a bang that rivaled an earthquake. Thranduil was hurled backward by the power of it, flying clear across the valley they had been fighting in and off the edge of a ravine that flanked the mountains glowering from above.

_The stronghold... Oh Legolas forgive me._

His body met rock and the gaping maw of darkness swallowed him whole.

oOo

A ray of early morning light broke through the drab choking haze above.

A shadow with an intimidating wing span rolled across the site of destruction.

Blood soaked a small spot on the rock amongst the now-soggy shards of wood strewn about the valley. A vibrant green circle encircled the blotch of blood but nothing else was spared in the mess.

The young man’s words echoed through the young Eagle’s mind.

_Find the king, find the king, find the king. _

The Eagle peered down into a ravine cracked into the separation between the spires.

There; a flash of silver.

The Eagle descended, the biting cold of the damp morning wind ruffling its feathers.

A limp figure. Vibrant hair pooled about his head, disturbingly stained red;

The king.

Gingerly curling his great talons around the limp body, the Eagle once again took flight to the single elf traversing the forest in a beeline for the Mountains.

He found found the king.

oOoOoOo


	39. Already Home

**A/N**: *staggers over, wearing full-body armor and panting* I diD iT yAy! EdiTeD vErsiOn iS uP!

I know I was naughty for taking forever but this chapter is as long as two so I hope that makes it up. :)

Oh, remember when I said there won’t be any angst in this story? Well, I may have made an overstatement... *fastens helmet and slides the visor down* *muffled voice* Enjoy!

Chapter 39~ Already Home

Thranduil was not indeed at the stronghold with his feet kicked up and a bottle of Dorwinion in his hand as was customary, much to Feren’s dismay. He would be leading out a search party as soon as everyone was settled.

The party came to a stop before the great towering gates of the cavern palace. The enchanted barrier was promptly pushed open with a breathy sigh as a cloud of dust enveloped the head of the group.

The main tunnel entrance gaped before them and they all observed with frozen awe. Slowly, they began to trickle in.

“Beware the darkness!” Feren shouted, his voice ringing eerily through the dense silence of the cavern, “We know not what may yet dwell here after all these years.”

“Or if these walls will yet hold,” muttered Galion with a glance to the grand stone pillars nestled in the walls. His voice carried more than anticipated and everyone swiveled about and stepped lightly in the manner of hunted deer.

Fires were lit, casting eerie shadows in every crevice and appearing so very small in the utterly black expanse before them. The wounded were made as comfortable as possible on any given platform and provisions were distributed. This took several hours and Feren was all but fidgeting to take out a party to search for the missing king.

The royal captain had been about to make a beeline for the main gates and fetch a horse just as Lord Elrond approached him. He gave a hurried nod of acknowledgement and forced his feet to stay in place as he pictured a map of the area in his mind and sorted through likely possibilities of where he might be.

Elrond appraised him with a wry smile that could have just as easily been mistaken for fondness.

_Well, the Mountains of Mirkwood, for one. That is where Alagbara mentioned he was headed. _

“May I have a word with you, Captain?”

_Plans may have changed though... he might even be somewhere along the creek..._

Feren nodded, his eyes straying back to the exit. “Yes, yes, is there a problem?” he asked distantly.

_There’s no reason for him to head south, I should think, so that marks off those outposts._

Elrond’s shoulders hitched with a silent chuckle. “Captain?”

_Oh! He might have made it to the Scarlet Fen. It is very likely if he went to replenish any provisions._

“_Feren_?”

_Or he could be making it straight to the other stronghold, which means the southern outposts are still an indefinite option, though they are located a bit far west for where he was last seen..._

“Oh yes, the rosters are on the desk, I want the reports by tomorrow midday,” Feren murmured, his eyes glazed in thought.

Elrond rolled his eyes in exasperation and clasped the young captain’s shoulder, startling him out of his musings.

“What? Oh, _Hir_ Elrond. A word, yes? Pray, tell.”

“Ah, well, I do know that it is not my place but I wanted to express a concern of mine...”

Feren nodded for him to continue much more attentively than he had before.

“Stores are running low, and we have only so much water. I propose you consider taking out a party to the lower levels and scour out the cellars for perhaps some more supplies?”

Feren nodded again, impatiently this time. “Yes, yes, well I am sure Galion can see to that.”

He moved to bolt for the escape when Elrond grabbed his elbow and forced him to a standstill.

“I am afraid that such a request would need the command of a captain, not a butler,” the Noldo said with a grin on his lips.

Feren glowered for a few beats until the information sank in and a blush crept up his cheeks.

“Oh... _oh! _Erm, of course.” The _ellon_ turned to leave, throwing Elrond a puzzled expression as if he had just been struck out of a trance, then settling for a glare and grumping off to dispatch a patrol of soldiers.

Elrond pursed his lips in a strained quirk, hands on his hips, before being beckoned away by the low moan of a wounded elf.

Feren stormed about with a thundercloud over his head.

“Dorthion!”

Said _ellon_ jumped and whirled about, eyes wide.

Feren suddenly became irritated by the bite to his own voice as well as the low chatter of the other elves, the soft rustle of blankets, the crackling of fires, the distant skitter of stone on stone, and the faraway hum of the river—everything. He wanted to leave and he wanted to leave now.

“Captain, is anything amiss?”

It was irritating how everyone always asked him if something was wrong. Why must they always do that?

Making a considerable effort to soften his voice, Feren relayed his orders. Dorthion saluted smartly with a bit of fright about him, (which Feren thought was annoying) and turned to organize his partners, Tauriel at his heel.

Finally, Feren sighed mentally, strutting purposefully to gather up his pack. Head held high, he caught a glimpse of Galion’s suspicious demeanor and quickly ducked away to avoid his accusing gaze, sliding his pack smoothly over his shoulder, and moving with urgency to escape the prying eyes of his peers.

_Almost there...a bit more... _He stretched out his hand to unfasten the gate when Galion’s voice from behind made him jump and screw his eyes shut in irritation.

“And where do you think you’re running off to, Captain?” His voice was irritatingly silky.

Feren did not spare the butler the full weight of his glare. “Out.”

Galion rested his hands on his hips and pursed his lips with an ever-so-slight twitch of his brow in the very picture of ‘_oh, really?’._

“You wouldn’t be seeking out a certain golden-haired Sindar king by any chance, hmm?”

Feren continued to bore down on Galion with every ounce of ill temper he possessed (a considerable amount, really).

Galion gave him a dispassionate retort in the form of a flick of his lashes and quickly straightened.

“Wait a moment, I need to gather up my things.”

“You are not coming with me, butler,” Feren returned heatedly, though his anger was not entirely there.

Galion took on a condescending pose and paid no mind to the ellon’s fuming; (yes, this was very irking).

“I swore an oath _too_, remember?” Galion hissed accusingly, drawing back when the captain flinched slightly as his words from their previous argument were turned backwards on him.

“Even if it was different than yours, it was still to ensure Thranduil’s safety above my own, and I see no less honor in that,” Galion continued quietly in an attempt to take the sting of his earlier words.

Feren sighed despondently. “There was never a question of honor, Galion, just of authority.”

“Do you think being trained to fight gives you authority like that, Feren? Am I any _less_ capable than _you_ in our duties?”

Feren pinched the bridge of his nose, an inkling of his former irritation appearing on his brow but then instantly vanishing. It seemed his words from weeks ago had stuck with his friends and it was his fault for not seeing it.

“It is not like that—“

“Ah, I see. It is because I have not yet done anything worthy of a ballad or—or praise in general, like you. Do you think that I do not know that, Feren? Do you think I do not wish to be able to wield a weapon as you do? Do you not think that day does not haunt me each time I fit a blade to my hand, that I do not hear the—“ his voice cracked painfully and he bit his cheek to compose himself.

“I am no warrior, Feren. But I am coming with you. You forget that it is I who first befriended him and brought us together.”

Feren massaged his temple with a conflicted grimace. Galion had countered his irritation with sincerity and he knew not what to do. It was true that the secretary was no warrior which would certainly slow him down... but how could he refuse those hurt, glittering eyes?

He wanted to console his friend, tell him that Feren thought no less of him than any loyal warrior, but he did not want to lie. He respected the _ellon_ very much and held him close to his heart, but Feren simply didn’t understand.

The captain knew that Galion had fought in the Last Alliance along with his family and had returned with no one but himself. The war haunted him, and he had not been able to pick up a sword ever since. He knew not the details, but the _ellyn_ kept mostly to themselves.

Yes, _ellyn_. It was a topic Galion and Thranduil talked of at times. Locked away in a room with hushed voices that ceased the moment he asked for permission to enter.

He supposed he wanted something to share with Thranduil as well.

“Galion, I didn’t mean that—“

The ellon fought to keep stoic as he retrieved his pack from a cold corner of stone.

“Have no _qualms_ about me slowing you down. I will go at the pace I see fit and you can go where you please. You took no _oath_ to protect _me_ at any rate and—“

The words stung and Feren interrupted the _ellon_ with a fierce embrace, murmuring into his ear,

“I have taken no oath on your behalf, but would do such in a heartbeat, _mellon nin,” _he said, tightening his hold when the slighter _ellon_ shuddered slightly and buried his face in the captain’s shoulder.

Galion wriggled out of the younger _ellon’s_ arms after a few beats to readjust his sliding pack. He observed Feren with a calculating scrutiny as if willing himself to read the other’s mind.

“...I suppose you can come,” the captain said with the hint of his former wry smile.

“Perhaps you two would be so kind to allow me to catch my breath before running off again?” a voice rasped.

Both _ellyn_ whirled about, thoroughly startled.

The sight that met them melted their hearts to the core.

“_Elbereth_.”

Thranduil limped inside the gates, being heavily supported by Alagbara under his arm. An open gash ran across his forehead to the side of his temple and his hair was disconcertingly stained red. His garments were sooty and torn and he cradled his free arm to his chest, hunching over it as if breathing pained him.

Galion was first to react and ran forward, all but tearing the ellon out of Alagbara’s hold and crushing him in a fierce embrace akin to the one he had recently shared with his other gwador.

Galion was quickly pushed away and replaced by Feren who held onto the Sinda with equal vigor.

“Ah— Feren—“ he wheezed lightly “—I am certain that every bone in my body was already broken and I do not think Filendis will appreciate it if you shatter them too.”

Feren drew back as if the contact had burned him. “Right, right I’m sorry I—“

Galion blinked rapidly, sniffing inconspicuously and passing a hand over his eyes. Feren’s eyes glimmered with their own relief.

“Ah now, don’t get overly sympathetic, you know I hate that.”

Galion huffed out a shaky laugh and embraced his friend again, taking care to handle the ellon lightly and whispering in his ear: “I knew you would be alright, _gwador_. I knew you would.”

Thranduil leaned back and flashed the Silvan his (bloodstained) teeth. Which of course, promptly set Feren off.

“Healer, we need to get you to a healer,” he murmured, bracing himself under the Sinda’s shoulder again.

Alagbara stood by, an odd smile on her face that was not quite mischievous, but not quite fond either.

“He may have a broken rib about to run his lung through, if that’s a concern to any of you,” she said off-handedly.

Galion’s eyes widened before his old chastising disposition resurfaced.

“That’s it, I’m taking you to Filendis and you aren’t about to protest. Galion fetch my cloak if you will, I don’t think he will survive another touch.”

“But Legolas—“

Feren froze at the name causing the Sinda to break off. Galion carefully drew a cloak about the ellon’s shoulders and pulled up the hood.

“Is he alright?” he croaked, eyeing them warily.

A few beats passed. Alagbara observed attentively through narrowed eyes.

“...Well he is now,” Feren said, earning a clout upside the head from Galion. “Maybe...”

Thranduil fixed Galion with a piercing glare. “Tell me.”

Galion wet his lips and began slowly, “He... misses you very much...”

_And he almost died for my inattentiveness. Ineffectiveness._

“You will tell me every spare detail of what has become of my son; where is he?”

“Not until after Filendis sees to you,” Feren scolded, helping him limp forward.

Thranduil merely glared at anyone in his line of sight, casting his eyes about the cavern and the fires that burned distantly within it.

“You have some explaining to do,” he bit out in the usual kingly tone he wielded.

“_You’re_ talking...” Galion muttered somewhere behind him, but Thranduil was unable to whirl on him with a scolding glower.

Filendis was promptly located and sworn to secrecy not to reveal the identity of his new patient just yet. After killing his shock, the master healer dutifully began to make his examination.

Thranduil stared despondently at the stone beneath his feet, his demeanor uncharacteristically solemn.

Feren, still being soft from the ellon’s sudden reunion, knelt down anxiously and asked the Sinda if there was yet something that pained him. A sarcastic retort or scathing glare was what he fully expected, not an uncomfortable silence.

“Something pains me yes...” he began uncertainly.

“Where?” Filendis said, not looking up or pausing from his buzzing about a pile of herbs.

Thranduil sighed. “There was a boy. I left him at the settlement back west and—“

Galion’s concern-clouded eyes quickly cleared. “Ah, Mit—Mithir—“

“Minaitir,” the Sinda corrected swiftly, his eyes lighting up. “So then you do know if he is alright?”

A smile spread over Filendis’ face as he leaned over his pile of supplies, mirrored by Feren. “Yes, he is quite fine. He has taken to Legolas, it seems.”

Thranduil visibly relaxed with a breathy sigh and defeatedly peered up to a proffered draught from the healer.

“I am afraid that your informant was correct and there are indeed several broken ribs in dangerous proximity to your lungs. I would have you drink this quickly so that I may work, for postponement of this treatment can bring nothing but further harm,” the healer informed.

The _ellon_ complied, tipping his head back and swallowing the potion in one draft. He scarcely had time to grimace at the odd taste before he slumped back on the cot, unconscious.

The healer began his grim work.

oOo

Legolas had been mentally bashing his head against a wall while Minaitir rambled on in his terrible speech about secret gardens and codes in ribbons when a flicker of silver-gold caught the edges of his periphery. He whirled about, struggling to his feet with an arm clamped over his side to better meet the sight and instantly wished he had remained sitting when he glimpsed the searching face of his father.

His breath caught in his throat and he remained leaden, disbelieving. A smile gleaned through him and he bobbed to catch Thranduil’s eyes.

But they were fixed on something else.

Minaitir shouted delightedly and was already at the Sinda’s side before one could even blink. Thranduil sank down to his knees and swept the child in his arms with a strangled sound of protest from Feren.

Legolas stood in the distance. Tears welled up in his eyes and hurt in his heart and he could not tear his gaze away from them. He swallowed thickly as his vision blurred over and suddenly, he didn’t exist.

_Not fair not fair not fair not fair! _his mind screamed. Minaitir_ is not Thranduil’s son, _I_ am! _

_Oh really? Are you certain you are not simply his prince? Bound to him by duty?_

Legolas slammed that slithering voice out of his mind as his eyes bored holes in the babbling elfling’s back. Emotion swirled around him like a hailstorm.

Thranduil looked up.

Legolas bit down the flutter in his middle and used an iron will to keep himself staring back, expressionless.

The Sinda rose, taking the elfling by the hand and coming to stand in front of his son (_or prince?_). Something envious glistened in his eyes that was quickly blinked away.

A soft smile spread over the king’s lips, but it did not move Legolas’ steeled jaw or weeping heart.

Uncomfortable fidgeting came between them and Thranduil opened his arms wide in beckoning coupled with a sorry excuse for a warm smile.

Legolas did not move. Whether it was his pride or shock preventing him from doing such, one could not know.

Thranduil moved forward on his own, wordlessly enveloping the golden ellon in a loose embrace, then pulling away with a quick kiss to his temple. That uncomfortable smile remained glued to the king’s face and Legolas continued to stare hard, (perhaps searching for a trace of moisture in his eyes as he had seen with the other elfling, and finding none).

Ice blue irises flicked in concern to Feren and Galion who only offered the slightest of shrugs.

A small hand tugged on the Sinda’s sleeve and he looked down, a genuinely warm smile lighting his face.

Legolas’ racing heart was steeped in ice and he knew he could bear their presence no longer. Swiftly turning on his heel, he dashed to the interconnecting hall (though tunnel seemed a more appropriate word).

Once out of sight, the golden ellon slid down the wall, burying his wet face in his knees and huddling into a ball. He felt so small. So unimportant; nonexistent.

The hushed voices regained volume in the adjacent chamber when a youthful voice chirped up,

“I do not think Leg’las likes me very much. I’m rubbish in this br’thering business anyhow.”

Thranduil’s voice rolled out, “Nonsense. Legolas has not been behaving very courteously. I believe I will need to have a talk with him when he gathers the courage to show his face again.”

His tone was conversational with only a hint of admonishment. Had Legolas seen reason, he would have taken the words for nothing more than what they were and ignored the barb. But the fact was that he was not in his right mind. So he took the words and twisted them to feed his own hurt.

Legolas shot to his feet and ran down the compact corridor, tears burning his eyes and irking him further.

The tunnel narrowed, pressing in on all sides. The walls were reduced to rubble and dust showered off the ceiling as he swept by. Sliding to a stop, he settled down on the floor, turning a rather large stone over in his hands.

He wanted to believe that he was acting childish and scolded himself so. But he knew he could not deny the facts. The way Thranduil noticed the elfling first—smaller as he may be. The way the ellon had lit up at the elfling’s attention. The way he accepted him into the family.

Legolas shared many more years with his father than did this—this _stranger_. That elfling did not deserve to steal from him. Yes, that is what it was. As soon as Minaitir had shown up, all he had done was steal from Legolas.

Steal his time with useless chattering. Steal his pride by having the nerve to call him ‘_brother_’. Steal his sleep with periodical whimpering, and steal his composure with talk of a mother’s love.

_No_.

Legolas did not want a brother. And he would have it no other way.

He was tired of the fake smiles and the nods of respect and the way he was treated as someone... different.

Back in the human and dwarven trade town he would spend hours propped outside the tent, watching the bustle of the streets.

The market was most active in the early lights of the morning. Potatoes were perhaps the most popular crop there. The chairmen would retire to the inn at the brink of twilight and stay up singing and laughing for several hours into the night. The butcher swept out his shop every other day unless it was windy. The baker’s daughter was sweet on one of the border patrolmen and would bring him pastries at noonday twice a week. People went about their business in clusters, talking and laughing and sharing tales and suggestions.

There was no scattering about to part the way in the street for some nobleman. No stoic nods or forced smiles masked over clenched teeth. Nothing more important than worrying about what would be the next day’s meal.

There was just simplicity. Equality. Community and love. No fearing your own father or working to present a suitable image every waking hour.

If he lived that life it wouldn’t be so easy for his family to break apart so. Or for him to be replaced, or be treated like he didn’t matter outside the walls of duty.

His hands froze, clenching around the rock. He drew back his hand and slammed the stone into the opposite wall, promptly shooting to his feet and retreating to his chambers, leaving the boulders in the tunnel walls to crack and settle.

oOo

“Meeting is adjourned.”

The composure of the room broke with the shuffling of robes and rattling of oaken chairs against the stone floor. Nobles filed out, leaving Elrond alone with the king.

A demeanor of deep thought was etched into the Noldo’s fair face.

Thranduil raised his brows expectantly. “You wanted a word?”

Elrond looked up abruptly. “Oh, yes, yes. I wanted to speak with you on the manner of foresight.”

Thranduil leaned back in the large ornamental chair as if settling in for a long ride, his left arm still in a sling. He initiated a drink but Elrond waved the offer away.

It had been three days since the king had returned from the Mountains of Mirkwood, battered and breathless, but already things were beginning to come into place. Most of the palace had been scoured for any disagreeable company and any leftover rations that were distributed among the peoples. Hunting parties were being dispatched and citizens from all over the forest were beginning to trickle in and aid with the cleaning to eventually take up residence in the city of caverns.

He had not seen Legolas since his return, but had been assured by Feren that he was fulfilling his duty quite effectively. Thranduil made a mental note to talk to him later.

“Foresight, you say? Have you seen anything of importance?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I am not certain.”

Thranduil took a draught from his goblet. “Do tell.”

Elrond then took the liberties of describing the vision he had when in the traveling company of Galion and his sons on the way to Greenwood. Oddly enough, at the mention of the uncovered sort of talan settled in the boughs of a sweeping willow overlooking the pond, the Sinda became solemn and melancholic; his eyes faraway and distant.

Finishing, Elrond said, “Do you recall such a place? Your captain and butler alike knew naught of it.”

A small pause. “I do know the place of which you speak,” he said shortly.

Elrond blinked. “Will that knowledge aid you in making sense of the dream...?”

Thranduil kept his eyes fixed on the opposite wall. “The garden you saw was cultivated by my wife,” he began, and realization dawned on Elrond. “The talan you mention—a flet—I built myself. Celeblessil and I would often meet there in our youth. No one else knew of it.” A hint of a smile broke his clouded features. “It is located here in a grove near the caverns. A hidden tunnel brings you directly to it from a certain hall in the corridors. I believe that you foresaw the summons to this very place.”

Elrond nodded. That made sense.

“What about you, _hir nin?_”

At this, Thranduil turned to look at him. “Me?”

“Have you seen anything of importance? Galion told me of your having odd dreams.”

Thranduil laughed and drained his goblet with a distasteful look from Elrond. Dorwinion felt similar to the sensation of burning embers sliding down your throat.

“I am no seer,” he said with a huffed chuckle.

Elrond cocked his head to the side, waiting.

Realizing the elf lord was sincerely waiting for an answer, the Sinda sobered.

“Ah— well yes. I have seen some—disturbing things,” he said, drawing the words out and dipping his head.

A subtle quirk of lips. “Do tell.”

“I saw—I saw a forest. _My_ forest. It was in shambles. Shadow choked the very air.” His expression became haunted and he once again took on that far-off manner of his, eyes glazed as if seeing things that the Noldo could not.

“Elves laughed and sang in a clearing. The Shadow crept up and suddenly in their place stood grim warriors. They took—they took the children. The children are _gone_.

“There was—a river of blood. From the young ones. I was drowning and—and I saw my father, dead at the foot of the Black Gates. And then there was that Eye, wreathed in flame,” the Sinda’s eyes snapped back to the present. “It was killing the forest, Elrond.”

Elrond furrowed his brow and stroked his chin. “And have there been any others?”

“They are coming much more frequently than before and are all similar to what I have described.”

The Noldo’s eyes shot to Thranduil, flaming and fierce. It seemed a trick of light flickered across his face. “What do you mean by ‘_more frequently than before’?”_

Thranduil stiffened and it did not go unnoticed by Elrond. He was caught. It would take careful maneuvering to get himself out of this corner. Though he felt like perhaps he did not mind so much if Elrond did find him out.

“I had other dreams of the like... Before Dagorlad.”

Elrond narrowed his eyes dauntingly. “Dreams of what, exactly?” he said with a stern edge.

“...The destruction of Greenwood.”

“By this Shadow?”

That was it. He could hide no longer.

“No, by flame. Dragon.”

Elrond lifted his chin in appraisal and leaned forward into the conversation.

“This has nothing to do with the reason you use a Concealment unless I am mistaken.” His brows rose.

Thranduil smiled somewhat slyly. “Perhaps...”

He didn’t have to tell Elrond everything. But it felt rather... relieving to have opened up a bit. Like the ways of his old life plagued by his father’s adviser was ended and now renewal sat at the horizon as the dawning of a new day.

Elrond took the hint and pried no further on this subject. There was certainly more to this ellon than met the eye, and despite all his shortcomings, Elrond liked that. Others would often accuse him of being sympathetic of the underdog, but he would just say that perhaps they are misunderstood. Perhaps that was another gift learned from his childhood; simple-mindedness was for those who would not embrace the truth, for reason often comes in layers.

“About this Shadow... do you have any inklings as to what it may be?”

“I know not what the Shadow is. But I can feel it. Times are changing in this forest. Darkness prepares itself to strike much harder than before and I fear that war is upon us.”

A few beats of silence passed.

“We must be prepared.”

Elrond stood suddenly, followed by the king.

“I feel that I must return to my realm. Talk of this Shadow has me concerned and I must see that we take certain precautions against this danger as well.”

Thranduil nodded in understanding. “I will prepare a party for you then.”

Elrond inclined his head in acknowledgement. “_Hannon lle.”_ He turned to leave, pushing open a grand oaken door with tooled leather workings like cascading vines aside. It was in little things like these that the Noldo marveled at the wood-elves’ way of unity with the Song and how it had become so very dear to them.

“Ah—Elrond?”

The ellon turned back to the room and cocked his head to the side. Thranduil’s gaze flickered to the floor uncertainly and Elrond narrowed his eyes slightly.

“I just wanted to say— thank you. For everything.” It seemed to have taken great effort for the Sinda to bring the words out in the open. Elrond found himself smiling at the typical bluntness of his kind. He found himself appreciating it.

“Of course, _mellon nin.”_

A small, genuine smile touched Thranduil’s face.

Elrond made a move to exit, but was once again stopped by the king’s voice. This time, it was tinged with mirth.

“And Elrond?”

“Yes...”

“Do teach your twins proper war-stratagem etiquette. I dare say they will be at a loss the next time battle fails to provide them any... per se explosives, dragons, or the ability to devour a mortal soul, hmm?”

Elrond threw back his head and let out a peal of laughter.

oOo

Estel busied about the room, drawing items out of drawers and a wardrobe and stuffing them into his pack with abandon that would have him on kitchen duty for a month under Glorfindel. His door suddenly banged open and he picked up the nearest item in defense, which was, oddly enough, an ornamental hairbrush that appeared scarcely used.

The intruder was just the familiar golden head, though, and Estel let the comb bounce onto the bed with a weary sigh.

“Must you always blunder about like a troll? I thought you wood-elves were supposed to be graceful,” he muttered.

Legolas only laughed with a tinge of bitterness, taking up the young human’s comb and examining it. “I never forgot the fateful day you did the same to me.” He draped himself out on the bed with a sigh of his own, still turning the comb over in his hand. “Now I exact my bloody vengeance.”

Estel scoffed fondly, raking his hair out of his face and ramming his rumpled clothes to the bottom of the pack to have room for his food supply.

Legolas watched him from over his feet, scrunching up his nose in distaste and absently aiming to pummel the _adan_ in the back of the head with the comb. It missed and clattered loudly onto the floor.

“Your aim has failed, I see,” Estel said, bending to pick up the offending projectile.

“Hair things were not made for throwing,” the elf returned with a disdainful sniff. “Too unbalanced.”

“I can name a few other things that are unbalanced,” Estel shot back, ducking over a smug half-grin.

At this, Legolas shot upright with a scowl, his hair still immaculately (and annoyingly) neat.

“When was the last time you used that comb, anyhow? A year? A decade?“

It was Estel’s turn to scowl and reach out for the nearest thing to toss at the elf, which was—disappointingly—nothing.

The Sinda slid off the bed and took hold of the young human’s shoulders with a lingering chuckle on his lips.

“You _must_ write to me.”

Estel stepped back and bent low at the waist, elaborately sweeping out his arm. “Your wish is my command, Highness.”

Legolas briefly rolled his eyes, which Aragorn responded to with a tug on one of the _ellon’s_ braids that offered an amusing look of mock-affront from the latter.

“I will write, I will write!” Estel assured with a light laugh.

A charming smile lit up the elf’s eyes, though he was most likely not aware of himself. His hand remained on the other’s shoulder.

“Estel?”

The human cocked his head in expectancy.

“Take care of yourself, _mellon nin.”_

Estel smiled wide, pressing a hand to his heart in the customary elven gesture. The next thing he knew was a streak of gold disappearing out the window.

He walked away, shaking his head fondly.

oOo

Legolas found himself at his father’s side in the mouth of a large window in the upper levels of the cavern where stone parted, dappling the inside with warm beams of sunlight. They silently watched the mounted figures below disappear under the dense cover of the trees.

The elder Sinda’s heavy stately presence diminished the earlier lightness in Legolas’ heart from his interaction with Estel. It seemed he could no longer postpone the ‘talk’ his father had in store for him. An air of stiff cross-ness had already settled about him.

His heart clenched in his chest as a piercing gaze settled firmly on the side of his face, seeking his eyes. Willing himself not to react sharply, Legolas slowly turned to meet Thranduil’s eyes, taking care not to appear cowed or otherwise conspiratorial. This was not the first time he would be admonished and certainly not the last so all he could do was brace himself and breathe it out.

“Legolas.”

Even staring directly at the speaker, the _ellon_ couldn’t help but jerk a bit at the sharp voice.

Thranduil eyed him surreptitiously. “You know we must speak about Minaitir.”

Legolas turned away, not being able to meet the intense depths of the king’s eyes and studied his boots. Mustering a steady voice he simply said, “Yes.”

A slight flicker of approval crossed the Sinda’s face as he whirled around to take leave to a more private area only to be met with Tauriel and Dorthion emerging from an interconnecting hall, trailed by a bubbling Minaitir hand-in-hand with healer Aldaner, the _elleth’s_ eyes crinkling in a merry chuckle.

Thranduil’s face slightly softened and Legolas couldn’t help the bitterness rising in his chest, forcing himself to keep his eyes blank.

Tauriel edged behind Dorthion, fidgeting anxiously, then considerably settling when the king gave her the smallest of solemn nods in atonement. She couldn’t help the smile that spread over her lips at the gesture; she was forgiven and now with Dorthion, everything was going to be right again.

“_Hir nin_, Captain Feren sent me to deliver this draft of the patrol rosters to you. He informs that it is vital they are reviewed and amended by dawn on the morrow,” reported Dorthion after a bow of respect.

Thranduil took the folder and sighed despondently. “Thank you, General, I will see to it that they are delivered to the captain upon completion,” he said with a curl at the corner of his mouth.

Puzzlement shattered Dorthion’s composure. “_Hir nin _forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I am no general.”

Thranduil raised a belittling brow as if the answer was the most obvious thing on _Arda_, yet a glimmer of amusement shone openly in his eyes. “You are now.”

Flustered beyond words, Dorthion laughed shakily and ran a hand through his hair, Tauriel joyfully joining hands with him.

“My greatest thanks for being permitted to fulfill this honor! I know not what to say,” he said with eyes alight in the most vibrant of summer green and such a brilliant smile stretching his lips that made the courtesy a joy in itself to deliver.

“Thranduil!” Minaitir shouted, ignoring Aldaner’s half-hearted attempts at quieting him. Waiting for no response, the elfling continued his ramble, “Thranduil you must come quickly! I found a secret tunnel that goes to a secret part of the woods just like in the story you told me, you must come quickly!”

It nearly physically pained the king to refuse such eagerness in the child after seeing him doused in a cloud of grief as had been before, but he could not let his duties wait any longer.

Observing the conflict that crossed the Sinda’s face, Aldaner knelt down in front of the child, taking his hands. “Thranduil has many chores to attend to since he failed to do them _earlier_ and has to pay for it now. He cannot come with you now but you can show me your discovery if you like,” she said with a kind, motherly smile.

Thranduil let out a relieved breath and shook his head at the sly look Aldaner shot him from over her shoulder.

The elfling looked up to the towering height of the king then back to the _elleth_ healer kneeling in front of him. Legolas looked away, hoping he came off as disinterested and would not have to drag along behind the elfling.

The ruse worked and the elfling nodded happily in consent, taking the _elleth’s_ hand again, his eyes shining in adoration.

“Not all of the tunnels have been searched and it would ease my heart if you would accompany them, General Dorthion,” the king said with a pointed look at the _ellon_ who saluted sharply and was enthusiastically led away by Minaitir.

Legolas did his best to melt into the wall.

Tauriel stared after them with an achingly familiar love.

“Thank you for doing that, _hir nin_. It means the world to him,” Tauriel said, daring to glance at the king’s face.

Thranduil nodded in acknowledgement and relief washed anew through the _elleth_ when she detected no animosity from him. It was difficult to believe but it seemed that he had truly forgiven her.

“You love him,” Thranduil said and Tauriel started a bit at the unexpected intervention.

“With all my heart,” she said without the slightest hesitation.

The Sinda raised his brows and nodded suggestively, giving her room to argue.

She bit her lip and studied the wall. “You do not think that it is too soon? Long have I known him for he was my brother’s closest companion. He has done me a great kindness and saved my life and I find that I had cared deeply for him for a while now.”

Thranduil’s smile was small but kind. Tauriel marveled at this new attitude. “It is genuine, I know that as well as you do,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I can see it in your eyes, Captain.”

Heat flushed her cheeks but she found herself taken aback by the station of which he addressed her.

“Captain?” she croaked.

He rolled his eyes unbecomingly. “_Ai_, have all my warriors gone deaf?”

It was as much of a verbal forgiveness as she could get and her eyes shone with the prospect of it.

Legolas was startled out of his absent reverie by a sudden booming that shook the very stone floor they stood on. A shrill scream froze the elves’ veins.

_Oh dear Valar do not let it be..._

A cloud of dust billowed out of one of the corridors and the trio wasted no time in running straight for it. The sound was unmistakably of the collapsing of stone and it came from the same direction Minaitir and his little informal escort had disappeared in.

Heart pounding, Thranduil sprinted down the hazy tunnels, squinting against the thick dirt the clogged the air.

_Minaitir you cannot leave me._

“_Minaitir_?! _Dorthion_?!”

They skid to a stop at a stone obstruction that brought the collapsed tunnel to a dead end.

“_Aldaner_! _Dorthion_!”

_Dorthion, no—no you are alive you have to be—_

Stones skittered as they settled and the haze eventually dissipated enough to make out what had happened in the darkness.

Legolas’ throat caught. Desperate breaths rushed in and out of his mouth and his knees nearly gave out from under him.

A bloody arm and a mess of chestnut hair were the only things visible through the rubble.

Hands shaking, Thranduil reached out and took a step forward, nearly recoiling as his foot met the stone with a disturbing squelch. A small pool of blood seeped from the base of the rocks.

He pressed his fingers to Aldaner’s wrist then quickly let go as if it burned him.

There was no pulse. His face said it all.

A heart-wrenching wail shattered the air and the three clawed desperately at the rocks, screaming for aid.

A _súlë_-rendering realization slammed into Legolas with brutal reality and he did not even notice the tears streaming down his face.

This was the tunnel. He had thrown the stones into the wall and now he asked himself why he had been such a fool.

_Great Elentarí above, I have just murdered three elves! _

oOoOoOo


	40. Belong

Chapter 40~ Belong

“_Dead people receive more flowers than living ones, because regret is stronger than gratitude.”_

~Anne Frank

oOo

Thranduil had to look away. In this moment all he could do was clutch the crushed body of the little elfling in his arms and try to block out the piercing cries of Feren and Tauriel.

Soldiers lingered uncomfortably at their flank, head down, some murmuring a quick prayer to assure smooth passage for the departing _súlë_ to the Halls.

The world smeared out into the distance.

Legolas could not take it anymore. He had remained frozen, staring at the pile of rubble and mangled bodies incomprehensibly. The only thing he could remember were the large, hopeful eyes of Minaitir as he wrapped his little arms around his waist and asked to be his brother. So bold, yet so timid.

Minaitir had only been a homeless child, seeking perhaps a scrap of love. Like a starved alley cat with its wary eyes as it edged toward a bowl of nourishment and watched you as if it was too good to be true.

‘_Will you be my brother?_’ Would it really have been that hard? To take a moment to bend for the child to whisper something into his ear, or let him lean on his shoulder to have at least some semblance of safety or belonging?

And his father. Previously, it would have brought lightness to his own heart to simply see the weary king smile. Did he really begrudge the child that ability?

Now all that was left was hardly a limp corpse.

“Nononono, _naneth_. _Naneth_ you cannot leave me like this. What will I do without— _oh_.” Feren—Captain Feren, steely-eyed warrior, with fervor and loyalty that rivaled even his—Feren was in shambles. Violent sobs shook his shoulders as he caressed Aldaner’s grey face, doubling over on himself and clutching his chest.

Galion hovered over him, his own silent tears tracking their way down the dirt smeared across his cheek while he ran his hand over the ellon’s back and tucked wayward strands of hair behind his ears with shaking hands.

Legolas couldn’t bear to watch. Pitiful groans escaped the captain’s throat and Galion flinched at every one.

The young prince knew exactly what was happening. Knew exactly how the ellon felt as his mother’s _súlë_ was torn away from his. It felt as if you were being split in two. That certain spot in your heart reserved for the one you loved vacant like a rapidly cooling seat where they were once settled into your side. It hurt and bled like any natural wound. You bled tears, and it ached inside. There was a reason few elflings ever survived the death of a parent.

Tauriel was a different matter entirely. She had just had a chunk of her heart beginning to patch itself in the gaping hole left by her brother only to have it torn out anew. He wouldn’t be surprised—nor would he blame her—if she made an enemy of him after this.

No one knew yet; that it was he who had weakened the tunnel wall in one of his childish pouts.

_How can adar bear me even as a prince? I have failed as a son and even then when appointed as protector of the Realm, the blood of three elves stains my hands... _

_Will I ever be forgiven? _

He knew he would have to tell someone, someday. But not yet.

_Perhaps I can add ‘coward’ to the ever-growing list of shortcomings. Surely it will be overlooked in the shadow of ‘murderer’. _

His gaze wandered back to his father who had not moved since the child has been placed in his arms. The least he could do was not leave his father alone in this for he had lost two that were dear to his heart, though any life taken was a difficult enough blow to an immortal.

Legolas bent down and took the Minaitir’s boneless corpse from Thranduil. Those piercing eyes, once flashing and vivid had greyed in the wake of this fresh pain. The listless irises slid over to Feren who was angrily struggling against Galion in his attempts to pull him out of the atmosphere.

Sheets were delivered to the chamber and Legolas took one with a habitual nod of acknowledgment and gingerly wrapped the too-small bundle.

_Immortal lives are not meant to be ended thus, but even more so for immortal children. _

A familiar presence approached within Feren’s reach. The young captain wordlessly turned and buried his face into Thranduil’s arm, more tremors of sobs spasming his shoulders. Galion used the moment to spread one of the sheets over Aldaner’s corpse and carefully transfer the body onto a stretcher to be carried away to a funeral pyre.

A low, trembling whisper left Feren’s lips, “I don’t think I will survive this.”

Silver tear after tear slid their way down the Sinda’s face. He reached his arm across his friend’s back and took a fist-full of his hair in a semblance of an embrace.

“You will.” A hitched breath. “I’ll make you. I am your king and I say that you will stay here with me.”

Feren huffed out a brief, unsteady laugh. Galion’s kind eyes and outstretched hand appeared in his periphery and Feren felt the smallest of grins steady his trembling lips.

What would he do without these two?

oOo

It was rather strange.

A chorus of crying voices reverberated in Legolas’ ears and filled the silence of his dim room. They had just burned the bodies and had a proper ceremony for the deceased—he was still fitted in the customary black velvet—but he simply felt... numb.

No tears had been shed from the close relations to the dead.

Legolas cast his eyes about the room and he ambled over to settle on his bed. There wasn’t much to look at. All the furnishings had been destroyed along with the other stronghold. He was never much for knick-knacks and other such pretty things, but found his room considerably lacking at the moment without anything to distract him.

Something hard and smooth touched his palm and he picked it up. It was Estel’s simple hairbrush. The silly human had forgotten it amidst all their banter.

Now Legolas found, oddly enough, that he missed the _adan_. His presence had not exactly induced a fresh topic of study, or something that required his attention like the everyday hub-drub of his life or even duty. No, Estel had been the one to settle down beside him and give a gentle smile with those brilliant windows of silver.

Of all the _Edain_ Legolas has met, there was something very...different about Estel. It could be called somewhat of an elvish quality, but that wouldn’t cover it. He had the depth of an elf with the intensity of such vibrant life like the soul of a Secondborn. Somehow, he could always feel Estel’s gaze on him and would meet it boldly as he always did. But instead of a steely defiance or uncertain wavering, Estel emanated a melancholic kindness. An unknown semblance that said, ‘_I understand_.’

It was all rather puzzling.

He ached for Estel’s consoling demeanor now. Legolas didn’t want to be looked upon as a standard needing to be met. He didn’t want skepticism or pity or awe; to be treated as some sacred thing that was locked up behind glass for others to gawk at and point to as an example.

He simply wanted a friend. Estel had been just that, and he found the prospect delightful.

Making a note to himself to write up a passage to Estel later, Legolas set the hairbrush back onto the bed and made for the forest.

He knew it was dangerous to be alone; not because of the fell beasts that roamed in the wilderness but the fact that no distraction prevented his thoughts from running rampant. Much like his _súlë_ found solace in flitting about the life that vibrated in the very air when out in the midst of the enchanting Song.

Thoughts were dangerous, but he was willing to take that risk to set a bit of himself free for at least a few moments; to pretend like this wasn’t just a bit of stolen silence to keep him sane.

_Oh, the things I must tell you, Estel._

oOo

Alagbara shouldered her pack, making for the exit before a familiar rolling voice stopped her in her tracks.

“You leave so soon?”

She rolled her eyes with a quirk of her mouth that she dared none other see before regaining her usual neutral sternness and turning on her heel to face the king.

“I have taken it upon myself to bring the outlying settlements to safety, or at least build up their defenses enough to reasonably hold. You know as well as I that times are changing and this encroaching darkness will soon be upon us.” Alagbara turned her head to peer into the distance. “I only wish we had more time.”

Thranduil was enraptured in a demeanor of thoughtfulness before the spell was broken. “Indeed. I bid you safe journeys throughout.”

They exchanged the rarity of the barest of warm smiles before she departed behind the gate with a last swoosh of her silky brown train of hair.

oOo

“I have just realized something.”

Legolas nearly drew his knife at the unexpected sound, but it was familiar and he relaxed only slightly.

“I was not expecting anyone to be here,” Legolas said with the smallest of bows.

Thranduil threw him a weary look over his shoulder. The Sinda was sitting at the base of a thick tree, his arms looped around his knees.

“Why must you always do that?”

“Pardon—do what, _hir nin?_”

“Address me like a king when we are alone.”

Legolas furrowed his brow, but it was just for show. He absently wondered why his heart had begun to race. “...Because that is who you are,” the young elf said, the puzzlement evident in his voice.

Thranduil brought up a hand to brace his brow. “Not all fathers are kings, but all kings should be fathers, if not to his own blood, then to his people.” Legolas settled down near his father, a respectful distance away. The king turned to look at him.

Yet it wasn’t the king that was looking at him now. _This_ elf was drawn, conflict in his eyes with violet bruises under them and emotional turmoil rolling off him in waves. _This_ elf bore many cares on his shoulders, not all of which were his own. _This_ elf was so very, very tired.

The weary king continued slowly. “I have just realized something, Legolas. I know you may resent me for loving Minaitir, but I think that when I looked at him, I thought of _you_. I cared for him because I saw you and perhaps thought that in some faraway magical dream I can make amends to you through him. When he died—I couldn’t help but feel a failure.”

_You? A failure?_

“He brought me back in time to when you were very small and your mother died. I—I wasn’t there for you, Legolas. I know I wasn’t but I cannot take that back or undo the damage I have done.

“But then I said to myself, no. _No_, Minaitir is _not_ you. You are a grown _ellon_ who may as well have been raised an orphan be it because of me, and I could not bear the thought of—of you drowning in a lonely world.”

Thranduil blinked rapidly for a moment and bit his lip. “There isn’t an hour that goes by without me thinking of you, _ion nin._ Minaitir was a dear child and the empty space left by his absence presence pains my heart, but I cannot help but think that he will be happier now; with his true mother. Perhaps it was meant to be this way. For Minaitir to be the one who opened my eyes to see the life I have all but abandoned.”

Thranduil looked out over the restricted expanse before them, the trees softly moaning in their sickening symphony.

“As for Aldaner... she was like a mother to me. But after Arataur passed...I could feel the grief clinging on to her. She stayed for Feren, and part of me rests to know that she is finally in peace. Dorthion was a fine ellon and I fear Tauriel’s fate now that he has gone.”

A knot constricted in Legolas’ middle. _You killed them, you killed them,_ the venomous voice seeped in. He stamped it out to the best of his abilities, but he knew it would come back because it was right, in a way.

The young elf shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts but they promptly returned, with more solid arguments and new accusations. He would never be free of them if he kept them trapped thus.

His father—whose presence was oft brilliant and demanding—was now a mere whisper at the back of his mind. Too sullen to truly be the elf he knew.

_Justsayitjustsayitjustsayit_, the sane part of his mind yelled.

_He’ll hate you after this,_ that voice slithered into the recesses of his thoughts until all were infected. His mind became a swirling turmoil of accusations.

His heart churned in conflict. It seemed that extreme measures would have to be taken to rid his mind from this.

“I have to tell you something,” Legolas blurted, not providing himself with a spare second to change his mind. His confidence roiled and surged against his chest in an intense anxiety, flaring up like oil to a fire when his father turned to look at him.

Heart hammering, he continued a bit slower, pausing to take a deep breath to steady the maelstrom of his emotions.

Try as he might, he could not stop his voice from cracking pitifully. It came out as a strained whimper, “_I killed them,_” he breathed, as if hearing the words out loud condemned him officially. “It’s my fault—I—I killed them.”

His vision blurred with the flood that unleashed from his eyes and he found himself buried in the arms of his father. The rough pattern of the ornamental robe scratched at his face and stray ends of feathery hair caught in his wet lashes, but he didn’t really notice.

“Oh, what kind of nonsense is this, Legolas?! Of course you didn’t—“

“No, no you don’t _understand_!” He hated the way his voice swerved and trembled but all that mattered now was getting the words out, his pride be hanged. Hitched breaths caught in his throat and he felt more tear well up in his eyes as his father rubbed soothing circles into his back and waited patiently to gather his bearings.

“The tunnel. I—I was angry at you—and I was being foolish. I threw rocks—at the tunnel wall and it—was weakened, I—“

To his ultimate horror, Thranduil laughed. It was unstable and breathless, but a laugh nonetheless.

“_Oh_, Legolas. Ever were you one to take the blame. That is not the first time the tunnel had collapsed and nothing you did could have changed the fact that the tunnel gave out on—on the three dear elves. You are not to blame, _ion_. Hush now, and think of this no more.”

The golden _ellon_ all but melted at the words. He slumped unbecomingly against his father’s chest and sobbed out shaky laughs, joined in by the older Sinda.

‘_You are not to blame, ion.’_ The words brought such assurance to his heart. They were formed from a rare voice, a cherished voice, so that they must be true. If he could be forgiven by one of the victims of this unfortunate turn of fate, surely it would not be that difficult to forgive himself.

Now, he relished the quiet moments spent with his father. The wailing trees did not do much to promote a cheery atmosphere, and Legolas said so.

Instead of the smallest quirk of lips the younger _ellon_ had been expecting, Thranduil’s expression saddened and his eyes turned to their far-seeing glaze.

“It is because of the Shadow. Ever swiftly it spreads through the land. In truth, I came to this place to think on something that I have achingly considered ever since this Shadow made itself known to me, which has been a rather long while, I will admit.”

Legolas sat up and appraised Thranduil curiously. His eyes had brightened once more and his heart rejoiced that he had been able to bring a lightness about his father with simply his presence.

“What is this you speak of?”

Thranduil turned to meet his gaze. “I will drive the Shadow back,” he said solemnly, rising to his feet.

The golden _ellon_ followed suit and the king slowly made his way to a towering oak conveniently in the center of the grove.

  
Reverently laying a hand on the trunk of said tree, Thranduil began a graceful flow of words, his voice sweet and low like dripping of honey. He seeped his Light into the tree as the song-like swaying chant weaved itself into every fiber of the tree.

To Legolas’ bewilderment, the very air around them turned golden and shone with a fierce yet gentle radiance that probed into his heart and _súlë_, it seemed. The tree sprung higher, the leaves dancing in a magical wind that now swept over them, flooding between every trunk, every blade of grass, possessively, _mightily._

The king’s voice rose, his form glowing golden, the place his hand touched illuminating veins of raw _power_ snaking through the tree.

A shiver ran down Legolas’ spine at the warmth conjured by his father’s words. The thick, sweet mist lingering in the air flooded into the tree with such violent suddenness that the young _ellon_ actually stumbled back down to his knees in the wispy grass.

Thranduil had both his hands on the tree now. His arms shook with strain but he shouted the last of the lilting enchantment like a war cry.

The golden Light shot from the tree, mirrored off every leaf into a blinding whoosh as it spread through the whole realm.

The king pulled back from the flourishing tree with an odd smile on panting lips. Legolas rushed forward to steady him, marveling at the magic that still rippled about him; like golden lighting flickering across his skin.

“What was—“ the young ellon breathed, but was cut off by the king.

“It is done,” Thranduil said with that strange smile. Legolas realized that for the first time he was seeing what pure joy looked like, and embedded the face to his memory as something unnamed in the back of his mind told him it would not happen again.

Legolas had been about to inquire further, when Thranduil interrupted with the answers.

“I—I enchanted the forest,” he said breathlessly. “The Shadow is angry, but the trees awaken. Listen!”

Sure enough, just as the king said, a wary thread of the Song began to lull into the new vibrance of the area. A joy leapt up in Legolas’ own heart as his wild Silvan _súlë_ reached out as far as it could reach, all but bubbling.

“...I did not know that you knew things of this nature!”

Golden eyes flickered about the clearing, drinking in the wondrous sight and shining with an unfathomable happiness that would soon fade.

Thranduil laughed, merrily. “Do not underestimate your father, Legolas,” he said with a playful tone of admonishment. The golden light in his eyes promptly sputtered and extinguished. A wave of solemnity ruffled them along with a fresh wave of the clear wind as everything reverted to its original color.

The king spoke.

“As much as I do not wish to acknowledge it, I saw much grief in the future for our realm and our people. We cannot continue to abide in such grief. I see that now, especially with this new loss. Nothing can be done to reverse death, so why spend what life remains in us mourning it when we can celebrate this wondrous life? For not everything lives on forever. Immortal the Firstborn may be but yet the End of all things lingers as our epilogue. I believe change is in order here.”

Legolas gave his father a side glance. “I do believe _Hir_ Elrond has infected you with his prestigious Noldorin company,” he said with lingering mirth. “I do not see your meaning.”

Thranduil smiled fondly, clapping his hands together and turning on his heels in the direction of the stronghold.

“I mean that Life—even the ending thereof—is a thing to be celebrated! The stricken lands of old were weathered with grief and both you and me know that we cannot allow this to happen to ours. From now on, a feast is to be held instead of a period of mourning. Come now! There are many preparations to be done.”

Legolas blinked, somewhat dumbfounded and followed after his king. _What strangeness is this?_ But he couldn’t help a small feeling, this new figment in his mind that felt this to be so very, very right.

oOo

Legolas retired late to his chambers that night, a song still ringing in his ears and his feet light with dance. The feast had been glorious, and had had the intended effect. His father had announced the new custom with an enthusiastic gusto that infected the entire throng. The king had been magnificent, his head held high and strong, yet the crown of flowers weaved into his shining hair had betrayed the tenderness of which he beheld all belonging to the lush realm of the Lady Kementarí.

A gentle smile glistened in his eyes as he gingerly retrieved a pen and parchment.

Pulling his chair back with a creak to the rickety frame to the desk he wrote:

_‘Dearest Estel,_

_‘Many things have happened since you have gone. Times are changing and strangely enough, I find myself wishing you were here with me. I would never admit to seeking the counsel of a blundering adan, but I cannot deny that I do enjoy your company and hope to be in it once more very soon. Perhaps we can direct our mischiefs to your father’s house instead of mine, for he is known to have a more enduring temper compared to my father._

_‘I spoke of change happening, and rightly so. Firstly, I wish to admit this: I was jealous of Minaitir and the attention he diverted from my own father, childish as it sounds. I had been foolish in the actions that followed but I will spare you the details until perhaps a later date. _

_‘There was a cave-in within the stronghold. Dorthion, Aldaner, and Minaitir were caught up in it and all perished. It is a shock, I am aware, and I have hardly come to terms with it myself. It was a blow to Captain Feren, but I know that he will pull through. Tauriel is devastated and I have yet to tell her of what I had done; it would only be fair for her to know. I dearly hope that she will still name me friend after this, for I have precious few._

_‘I spoke with my father, finally, and it seems we have come to terms on many things. He said things that my thoughts have long dwelt on and he changed a custom; now instead of mourning, we will rejoice in the flourish of life as it is. _

_‘This is what I had realized; that life is sacred, truly. And we should indulge in every minute of it. I sense that difficult times are ahead for our realm and I believe this new mindset will have us not weather away with the storm._

_‘I do hope your travels boded well and without too much trouble (though it has come to my immediate attention that you do enjoy a bout of it from time to time). I look forward to our next meeting. _

_‘—Legolas Thranduilion.‘_

The _ellon_ settled his pen down into a groove of the desk with a satisfied smile as he sealed the letter and sent it off with a homing falcon from a cleft in the cool rock.

The sun peeked sleepily over the horizon and wove the first threads of dawn into the sky. Legolas appreciatively inhaled the fresh air of the lingering chill of the night, recalling the brilliance of the golden enchantment wrought by his father.

The feast had been held in the very same clearing and the whispers of the faded magic whispered to him still.

The awakened Song sprang with his _súlë_ whenever he wandered under the mighty boughs, and knew that it was still Greenwood the Great, in his own language.

Life embraced him wherever he went and if anything, he truly knew this, down to the depths of his being;

_This_ was where his heart belonged, and here it would remain until the end of Time.

He was _home_.

oOo

_You don’t have to be broken, to see there’s magic in a shooting star_

_When you’re lost and you’re lonesome, let the heavens show you who you are,_

_Look up, and you’ll know, _

_You are,_

_Already home._

_Already home._

_—fKandC_

oOoOoOo

**A/N: ***tearing up* Yes! It is finished!

I want to thank all my wonderful readers and reviewers who have made an ending to this story possible. You all were always there with encouragement through both good days and bad, and I greatly appreciate it!!!

**Special thanks to Scribbles-on-Parchment for being such a wonderful and patient beta!! It has been an amazing journey indeed, _mellon nin!_**

I do hope you all enjoyed. I plan to keep writing and hopefully hone this skill until I can use it to its full extent. :)

Blessings and thank you again!!


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